


you can hear it in the silence

by buddiebuddie



Series: white house AU [13]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: AU, Adorable Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Caring Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Christopher Diaz Has Two Dads, Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, Christopher Diaz is a Sweetheart, Drunk Evan "Buck" Buckley, Eddie Diaz Takes Care of Evan "Buck" Buckley, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Established Relationship, Evan "Buck" Buckley Acting as Christopher Diaz's Parental Figure, Evan "Buck" Buckley Has Bad Parents, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jealous Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), M/M, Maddie Buckley is a Good Sister, Married Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Minor Maddie Buckley/Howie "Chimney" Han, One Shot Collection, President Evan Buckley, Protective Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Protective Evan "Buck" Buckley, Smut, Soft Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Soft Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Special Agent Eddie Diaz, Teenage Christopher Diaz, Upset Evan "Buck" Buckley, White House AU, Whump, Worried Eddie Diaz, Worried Evan "Buck" Buckley, and buck do be loving online shopping, eddie diaz is a terrible cook, parenting is hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 65,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27412840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buddiebuddie/pseuds/buddiebuddie
Summary: a collection of one shots, drabbles, and prompt fills within the white house au verse
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Maddie Buckley/Howie "Chimney" Han
Series: white house AU [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677313
Comments: 763
Kudos: 524





	1. the one with busted knuckles and hushed confessions

**Author's Note:**

> oh hi there! this is going to be a collection of one shots, drabbles, and prompt fills for my buddie white house au. leave any prompts you have in the comments - i am working my way thorough as many as i can!
> 
> tags will be updated as i go  
> title from the musical masterpiece "you are in love" :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set three years into Buck’s presidency
> 
> rating: mature  
> word count: 3869  
> 

“You look like shit,” Eddie says by way of greeting, looking Buck up and down. He frowns at the sight of his pale skin, his sunken-in eyes. He places the back of his hand against Buck’s forehead.

“Shakespeare is shaking” Buck replies, leaning into Eddie’s touch. “You have such a way with words.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, taking his hand back. He’s relieved that Buck doesn’t seem to be running a fever, but still not satisfied. “Seriously, you okay?”

Buck nods. “Fine. Just tired,” he says. Understandable, seeing as he’s just come back from a last-minute overnight trip. The trip popped up on Eddie’s day off, and Buck declined his repeated offers to come into work and join him. He didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want Eddie to miss out on spending time with his kid just because he needs half a Xanax to get on an airplane. 

So he went by alone, or as alone as you can be traveling with dozens of other people. Funny how despite countless Secret Service agents, advisors, staff, and the entire White House press pool, he still felt lonely. 

His going alone also meant he hadn’t slept in forty something hours, between the plane and the time differences and the need to get right back to work as soon as Air Force One hit the tarmac earlier. 

Eddie, for what it’s worth, didn’t get much sleep either, instead spending his night worrying about Buck. Worry that had melted away upon seeing Buck climb out of the motorcade earlier after it returned from Andrews, only to return a few moments later once they were alone and he finally got a good look at him. 

“You should get some sleep,” Eddie says.

Buck shakes his head. “I’m okay,” he insists. “Just need a cup of coffee and I’ll be good.” 

“Buck.”

Buck sighs. He’s exhausted, the type of tired he can feel in his bones, his body aching with every step. But he has things to do and places to be, and there’s a college in West Virginia expecting him in a few hours for a campaign rally. So, despite the way his eyeballs feel too hot in his head and the concern written across Eddie’s face, he insists, “Everything’s fine, Eddie. Promise.” 

Eddie’s walking through the stadium as the crowd filters in, doing his best to go unnoticed as he scans the attendees for anything out of the ordinary. So far so good, though it isn’t doing much to quell the slight edge of unease lurking in his gut. He’s worried about Buck, plain and simple. 

He stands in the crowd for his speech, hanging on every word that he watched him practice last weekend. 

They snuck him out of the White House and over to Eddie’s place on Saturday, where he spent the day helping Eddie build a bookcase for Christopher, whose growing collection of chapter books was rapidly outgrowing the old floating shelves in his bedroom from when he was a baby. 

Christopher had lined up a bunch of stuffed animals on the couch beside him as Buck stood on the coffee table and read his speech off of his phone, switching between a variety of silly voices as he spoke. Eddie can’t think of anyone else who’d be able to keep a nine-year-old giggling through 23 minutes of campaign promises and policy remarks, shouting “again!” once he’d finished with an over-exaggerated bow. 

So, in his refusal to deny Christopher anything he asks for, Buck practiced again, and then they ordered pizza, and Buck helped Chris build a blanket fort in the living room while Eddie looked on and tried his hardest not to physically swoon.

He looks pretty good up there, the combination of the bright stage lights and a tube of concealer from Maddie’s handbag doing wonders for his tired eyes. Though, the glint is missing from them as he speaks, his smile not quite reaching his ears. 

Eddie walks the perimeter of the room as he speaks, continuing to scan the crowd. They erupt into applause, followed by chants of  _ four more years  _ as he raises his hand in thanks and his exit music begins to play from the speakers. As the crowd starts thinning out, Eddie starts to make his way back to the hallway behind the stadium doors, where Buck will pose for some pictures and shake some hands before they head back to D.C. 

He’s just stepping into the hallway when he hears Maddie yell. 

“Buck!” 

Eddie’s blood runs cold, turns heavy in his veins. He breaks into a sprint immediately, running down the hallway to where he can see Buck is wavering on his feet.

He’s there in seconds, just in time to get his arms beneath Buck’s elbows as he slumps to the ground. Eddie eases him down onto the tiled floor, his heart racing as he keys his radio, shouting orders out to his team and calling the paramedics in. 

Eddie’s on his knees beside Buck, two fingers on his wrist as he feels for his pulse. The beat of Buck’s heart, fast as it may be, grounds him instantly, quells the anxiety bubbling within him as he looks up at Maddie. She’s got nothing but fear in her eyes as she catches Eddie’s gaze. “His eyes just rolled back,” she says, voice wavering as she glances down at her brother, motionless on the floor. 

“He’s okay,” Eddie says, more for himself than for Maddie. There are agents lining the hallway now, whispering to each other and talking into radios. “Where are the medics?” he calls out to no one in particular. He thinks it’s just dehydration, but he’s not about to take a chance. Not when it’s Buck on the floor beneath his hands. 

Two paramedics burst into the hallway just then, jogging over to them and taking over. Eddie doesn’t move, keeps one hand on Buck’s thigh, the other on his wrist until they’re ready to load him onto the stretcher and get him into the ambulance. 

“He’s dehydrated,” one of them says, glancing between Maddie and Eddie. “We’re going to get him in the rig and get him some fluids. He’ll be okay.” Eddie lets out a strangled breath, relief flooding him as he hears the words out loud. He’s too worked up, too strung out to appreciate that his gut was right from the start. 

As he follows the paramedics to the waiting ambulance, Eddie thinks back to earlier, when Buck promised he was fine as the car pulled away from the White House. He should’ve insisted he stay back, he shouldn’t have let it go.  He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He knew from one look at Buck that he was exhausted, that the  _ last _ thing he needed was a full day’s schedule. Why didn’t he push harder?

What was it Buck had said?  _ Everything’s fine, Eddie. Promise. _ Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek and thinks that if there were a narrator talking through the day, that would’ve been the part where they’d have said, “Everything was not, in fact, fine.”

Eddie jumps in the back of the ambulance– thanking God for the umpteenth time in the last few minutes that there’s always one with the motorcade– as they load him in. The paramedic who hoisted the stretcher into the rig jumps back down onto the pavement, shutting the doors behind himself. Through the window in the back of the ambulance, Eddie can see that the paramedics are talking to Maddie and a few of the agents, no doubt filling them in so they can call ahead and get the hospital cleared. 

Buck’s brow furrows as he begins to come to, his eyes moving behind his eyelids. “Hey,” Eddie says, his voice low, calm, even. The lone syllable is grounding, a small groan escaping Buck’s lips as he gets his bearings. “You’re okay, I got you.”

Buck opens his eyes long enough to confirm that it’s not just a fever dream, that he’s not imagining Eddie’s touch. He closes his eyes again after confirming that Eddie’s actually standing over him, with one hand on the side of the stretcher, the other resting on his thigh just above his knee, his fingers moving in small, reassuring circles. “Wh-” he begins. It doesn’t take him long to get his bearings, anxiety bubbling inside him as he realizes he’s inside an ambulance, buckled into a stretcher.

“Shh,” Eddie shushes him, bringing a hand up to push a stray piece of hair away from Buck’s forehead. “Rest. You passed out,” he says, the way his jaw sets as he says it not lost on Buck. 

“I’m-”

“Mr. President,” one of the paramedics from before climbs into the back of the ambulance. Eddie drops his hands to his sides immediately, standing up straighter. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” Buck replies, met with an eye roll from a certain Special Agent. But his voice cracks as he tries to get the second syllable out, his eyes threatening to close at any second as he nearly succumbs once more to the exhaustion. 

“You need to rest. You’re exhausted, sir, which led to your loss of consciousness,” she says. “We’re going to get you some fluids and bring you over to the nearest hospital for a work up.”

“Is that necessary?” Buck asks, his weak voice the answer to his own question. 

“Yes,” Eddie and the paramedic say at the same time. Eddie’s cheeks flush as she looks over at him and gives him a funny look. He ignores it. 

“Fine,” Buck agrees. Eddie’s hand brushes up against his as he steps out of the paramedic’s way, and it takes everything Buck has not to lace their fingers together and squeeze. Anything to get the fear off Eddie’s face. 

She jumps out and rounds the rig, climbing into the driver’s seat as her partner climbs into the back to monitor Buck as they make their way to the hospital.

He closes his eyes as the ambulance starts moving. He’s drifting in and out of a twilight-like state, half asleep, half lucid as they make their way through town, sirens cutting through the silence. And then someone’s rolling up his sleeve, then there’s a small pinch in the crook of his elbow. He’s always hated needles, but takes comfort in knowing the bad part’s over and the IV is in. 

But then the needle moves again. And again. There’s a hushed swear word, and then the needle moves inside his arm once more, this time sharper than before. He hisses, screwing his already-shut eyes closed even tighter, willing himself to focus on anything but the needle digging around beneath his skin.

“Seriously?” It’s the sound of Eddie’s voice, more of a growl than anything else, that pulls him back. “Move.” He opens his eyes to see Eddie shoving the paramedic aside and grabbing the IV kit from his hands. He pulls the needle out so gently that Buck doesn’t even realize it’s out until he sees it in Eddie’s hands. 

He flicks the inside of Buck’s elbow gently, rubbing at the skin before nodding to himself. “Quick pinch,” he mumbles. He’s right, it’s quick– Buck barely notices it, but then again, maybe he’s just captivated by the man hovering over him. Eddie gets a vein on the first try, removing the needle and leaving the catheter behind in a matter of seconds. Satisfied, he grabs the saline bag from where it’s resting on Buck’s chest and brings it up to his shoulder, tipping his head to hold it in place between his shoulder and his ear.

Eddie takes a long breath, exhaling slowly as he looks over at the paramedic, who’s suddenly engrossed in the chart on his clipboard, flush creeping up his neck as he no doubt makes sure not to meet Eddie’s eyes. 

He feels a little bit bad for shoving the guy aside like that, but couldn’t stand to see Buck’s face twist up in pain like that one more time. There are only two people on this earth who Eddie’s this fiercely protective of; one of them’s on the stretcher in front of him and the other one is in a third grade classroom on Wisconsin Avenue. 

Buck just looks up at him, hint of a smile playing on his face. He’s still got his gaze locked on Eddie when they pull up to the hospital, the paramedics jumping out to meet the waiting doctors. As soon as they wheel Buck into the hospital, it’s a whirlwind of different tests and hallways and doctors. Eddie’s right there beside him the entire time, even stands next to the CT machine in a lead apron. 

Duties of his job notwithstanding, Eddie can’t imagine being anywhere but at Buck’s side right now. He’s never been more thankful for the shiny piece of metal on his belt and the government-issued credentials in his pocket that let him do just that, with no questions asked. 

“What?” Eddie asks finally, once they’re alone in a patient room, waiting for a doctor to come by and give Buck a diagnosis. Which Eddie’s sure will be dehydration and exhaustion just as he and the paramedics suspected, but alas, he’s not a White House-sanctioned doctor, so his opinion doesn’t matter. Nevermind the fact that he spends every waking minute beside Buck and called this long before it happened. 

Buck’s still got that look on his face, staring up at Eddie like he’s the sun, the moon, and all the stars. Eddie’s starting to wonder if he missed them giving him a shot of morphine when Buck finally answers him. 

“Nothing,” he replies, but the grin on his face says otherwise. “That was hot, though. Back there in the ambulance.”

“Well make up your mind,” Eddie says. “Was it nothing or was it hot?” 

Buck rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m otherwise incapacitated.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’d have no choice but to kiss you senseless.” 

Eddie smirks from where he’s standing beside the door, hands folded behind his back. “Well, then ‘lucky’ isn’t the word I’d use.” 

“You put the fear of God in him,” Buck points out. “Poor guy.”

“He was digging around in your arm like a fucking amateur,” Eddie replies, frustration dripping from his words. “I mean, come on. Christopher could’ve found a vein faster.”

Buck could live to be one hundred years old and his heart will still skip, his body instantly feeling warm when Eddie’s protective streak shows itself. And at the same time, he knows that Eddie could live to be one hundred years old without that streak running through him burning out. 

“I love you, you know,” Buck says, without a care in the world who might hear him. Eddie steps forward, crossing the room. And then Buck’s eyes go even softer, if possible, as his fingers brush against Eddie’s. Eddie takes his hand without hesitation, lacing their fingers together.

“I know.” He squeezes Buck’s hand in his, soft smile dropping off his face when Buck’s hand goes limp beneath his. “Hey,” Eddie says, shaking Buck’s shoulder. He’s trying to stay calm, but Buck doesn’t respond, doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move beneath him. “Buck, hey,” he tries again, shaking him a little harder this time. 

For the second time in as many hours, his heart all but stops, blood running cold. “I need some help in here!” he shouts. There are agents in the room within seconds, two nurses and a doctor right behind them. 

Eddie steps back as they run up to the bed, talking over Buck as they check monitors, drop the head of the bed, and dig around on instrument carts. Eddie feels like he’s frozen, feet stuck in place on the linoleum floor as he watches, helpless, as they work. Someone’s talking to him- Maddie, maybe? - but the words don’t register. His eyes are locked on Buck in the bed before him, even as one of the monitors starts beeping louder than it was before and two hands land on his shoulders.

“No,” Eddie protests, pushing back instinctively. He’s not even sure who’s standing in front of him, who’s trying to get him to leave. “No, no. I’m not going anywhere.”   
“We have to.” It’s Bobby, with his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. His voice is calm, yet insistent as Eddie tears his eyes away from Buck long enough to register it’s Bobby talking to him. 

Eddie swats at Bobby’s hands. “No!” he says, a little louder this time. “I’m not- we can’t leave him.” 

“They need space to work,” Bobby says, a hand coming up to grab Eddie’s wrist. “We have to go, Eddie.” 

Eddie shakes his head, wrestling to get out of Bobby’s grip. Bobby manages to get him to the door, walking him through it despite his repeated refusals. He pulls it closed behind them, alone with Eddie in the hallway. “You need to take a walk,” he hisses. 

“Fuck that,” Eddie says, moving to step past Bobby and head back into the room. 

“Take. A. Walk.” Bobby says through his teeth. He plants a hand on Eddie’s shoulder firmly and turns him around so he can’t see into Buck’s room. “ _ Now _ , Special Agent Diaz.” 

It’s enough to bring Eddie back into his body, to get him to finally register what’s going on. He scoffs, yanking his shoulder back from Bobby’s grip. He thinks he might explode– some combination of fear, anger, and anxiety bubbling up inside him and threatening to boil over. 

He storms off down the hallway, throwing the door to the staircase open and letting it slam loudly behind him. He immediately hurls his fist at the wall, the pain as his knuckles make contact with the cinderblocks rushing through his body instantly. 

And then he’s not feeling fear so overpowering he thinks it might consume him anymore. Now, he’s just feeling pain. And it feels good. 

He hits the wall again, swearing under his breath. Then again. 

His skin is broken open now, beads of bright red blood starting to appear on his knuckles as he flexes his fingers.

The fear and anxiety ebb away with each swing, but the anger and self-loathing stay. In fact, they grow exponentially with each passing second. When the door flies open after Eddie’s third punch, he’s not sure if he’s ever hated himself more. 

He did this. He didn’t speak up. He let Buck get in the motorcade this morning, let him get on stage under those bright lights, let him keep going when he was already run ragged and then some. 

“Hey,” Bobby says, closing the door to the staircase and standing in front of it. 

“Is he okay?” Eddie can hardly get the words out fast enough. 

“He’s fine. Just passed out again. It’s a good thing you were in there with him.”

Eddie lets out a long exhale, one he didn’t realize he’d been holding in. “I want to go in there,” he says, starting to pace.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Bobby says. Despite Eddie technically outranking Bobby, he knows better than to dismiss him right now. 

“I did this,” Eddie says, voice breaking. “I knew he wasn’t up for this today. I knew it in my gut and I didn’t stop him. He shouldn’t have been there, he–”

“You really think he would’ve listened if you tried?” Bobby asks. “If anything he would’ve tried twice as hard to prove you wrong, and then things could have been even worse.” 

Eddie knows he’s right about that. But still, his guilt is eating at him all the same. 

“I should’ve gone with him to California,” Eddie says. “I should have had him stay back today, should have insisted they reschedule the event today. I did this.” 

“This is not on you,” Bobby insists. “Eddie, you have to know that.” 

Eddie feels hot tears behind his eyes all of a sudden. He doesn't bother turning away from Bobby in his attempt to blink them back. “I should have stopped him.”

“Listen to me,” Bobby says. “You did not do this. It was bound to happen anyway– he’s exhausted, dehydrated, overworked. And whether he was at that rally or in the White House, it was bound to happen. I mean, he passed out in a hospital bed while resting and getting fluids. The doctors even said there’s nothing anyone could’ve done. He’s just exhausted. But he’s going to be fine, Eddie.”

Eddie nods slowly, Bobby’s words sinking in. Logically, he understands what he’s saying. But it seems to be taking his heart a little longer to catch up and get on board. 

“I want to see him.” 

Bobby nods, leading him back to Buck’s room. When Eddie steps in, Hen steps out, letting Eddie take her place beside the door. Maddie’s in the hallway talking to the doctors and Bobby’s waiting outside the door. 

They’re alone in the room, just the two of them and the steady beeping of the monitor beside Buck’s bed. Eddie’s not sure how long he stands there, watching the steady rise and fall of Buck’s chest as he sleeps. Finally, he begins to stir, his eyelids fluttering open. 

“Hey, you,” Buck says, his voice thick with sleep. 

Eddie almost chokes on a deep sigh of relief. 

“And you thought I looked like shit  _ before, _ ” Buck jokes, sitting up. It’s then that he gets a better look at Eddie and is able to take what remains of a panic-stricken look still lingering on his face. 

The soft, sleepy smile drops right off of Buck’s face. “Evan,” Eddie whines, sounding absolutely shattered. Buck’s heart squeezes, just as it does every time Eddie uses his first name. It feels like someone’s got a hand around it, twisting and kneading and squeezing every last drop of love out and into his bloodstream, where it can course through his veins, a warm electric buzz spreading through him with each beat. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I failed you today.”

“What?” Buck’s brow furrows. “Eddie, no.” 

“I should have sent you home.” 

“I wouldn’t have listened to you if you had.” 

Eddie knows it's true, but it doesn't placate him much. He still feels so guilty, so foolish, so  _ angry _ with himself. It’s only a fraction of what he was feeling earlier in the stairwell, but it’s still enough– still so powerful– he doesn't know if he’ll ever shake it.

“Come here.” 

Eddie moves instantly, crossing the room and stepping up to the side of the hospital bed. Buck grabs his hand without hesitation, lacing their fingers together. That simple act alone is enough to take the edge off, to pull Eddie out of his spiral of self-loathing.

Buck runs his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles, frowning as he feels broken skin beneath his finger. He looks down at Eddie’s hand, at his busted knuckles, then back up at him. “Eddie,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. 

He doesn't have to ask. He knows Eddie inside-out, backwards and forwards, six ways from Sunday. He knows _exactly_ where Eddie’s head went, and exactly why his hand looks the way it does.

“I’m okay.” Buck says. “You didn’t do this. If anything, it was my own lack of self-preservation skills that did me in.”

“I just–” 

Buck cuts him off. “There’s no one I trust more than you.”

Eddie doesn't say anything, just basks for a quick minute in the way his heart seems to hang a bit lower in his chest all of a sudden. He brings his free hand up to cup Buck’s face, running his thumb over his cheek affectionately. He drops his head, pressing a kiss to Buck’s forehead and giving his hand a squeeze. 

Buck squeezes back, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes close and he takes a deep breath. “I love you,” he murmurs, just barely loud enough for Eddie to hear it. 

“Love you more.” 


	2. the one with miscommunications and refrigerator magnets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set a few months before buck is elected president 
> 
> rating: explicit  
> word count: 3372

“Eddie, Eddie, Hen.”

As he sits in the car outside the hotel, he runs his thumb over the Las Vegas magnet he picked up from a street vendor early this morning. Thoughts of Christopher flood his mind, a welcome distraction from how exhausted he is. 

The election is only a few months out, and Buck’s been all over the country. Eddie can barely keep track of all the places they’ve been. The only way he’s been able to keep track is the stash of refrigerator magnets in his suitcase. Each place they stop, he grabs one for Christopher– it’s been their thing since they moved to D.C. from Texas when Christopher was just a baby.

When they landed in the airport, they stopped just long enough for Shannon to tie her shoe. While Eddie was holding him, Chris reached his little chubby baby hand out and plucked a White House magnet right off of a kiosk’s display behind him. 

They didn’t realize until later that night that their son had committed his first petty crime without either of them noticing. There was something poetic in the way he took a White House one out of all the options, which didn’t go unnoticed by Eddie. He put the magnet on their new fridge, front and center. Each time work sent him on the road, he made sure to get a magnet to add to the rapidly growing collection. 

There are few things better than the way Christopher’s eyes light up when Eddie comes home with a new magnet, the way his smile reaches his ears as he searches for the perfect spot on Eddie’s refrigerator to place his newest addition. 

Since the time he joined the Buckley campaign nearly a year ago, Eddie’s brought home a magnet from 31 of the 50 states. You can hardly see the stainless steel of his fridge at this point, the once shiny appliance overtaken by flags, state birds, bubble letters, and bright colors. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Eddie stifles a yawn, pocketing the magnet. He clears his throat before replying, “Go for Eddie.”

“We have a situation in here,” Hen says, the end of her sentence ticking up, the slightest hint of uncertainty behind her words. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. He and Buck have had a rough few days, to say the least. Buck’s slipped back into his old ways, making reckless decisions and pushing Eddie’s buttons each and every chance he gets. Eddie can’t figure out where it’s coming from, why Buck’s suddenly so distant and so defiant. He’s like a toddler, stubborn and more than eager to test any boundary he can. 

He first noticed it a few weeks ago, right around when he gave Buck a heads up he’d be off for a week to go to Texas at the end of the month. 

It only got worse as the days went on, and came to a head when Eddie was away. According to Bobby, Buck was a handful in his absence. Eddie, fed up with the reports he was getting from his team, finally snuck onto his parents’ back deck late one night and called D.C., where he tore into Buck for sneaking out of his apartment. 

_Just because you can get past the night agents does not mean you should._

Buck had scoffed. 

_Well, not for nothing, if you were better at sneaking around, they wouldn’t have caught you and we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place._

Eddie could hear Buck rolling his eyes in response. 

_Get it together._

Buck had said nothing to that, just hung up the phone. 

So yeah, Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fuck. Okay. What’s he doing?” he asks, sitting up a little straighter just in case he has to move. 

“More like _who_ he’s doing,” Hen says. 

Eddie’s chest feels tight all of a sudden. He yanks the key from the ignition, scrambling to unbuckle his seatbelt. He barely recognizes the cold edge to his own voice as he says, “Get him out of there, _now._ ” 

“You don’t think we tried?”

“I’m on my way up right now.” His heart is pounding in his chest, his stomach twisting in knots. His blood feels heavy as it pumps through his body, his jaw clenched as he throws open the back door to the hotel and beelines for the staircase. 

Hen and Chim are waiting outside the door to Buck’s suite, some strange combination of distress and amusement on their faces. 

“Oh, thank god,” Hen says as Eddie comes down the hallway. “We tried to stop him, but–”

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie cuts in. He knows more than anyone that when Buck has his mind set on something, there’s nothing stopping him. “Do we know who it is?”  
“Some girl from a club on the strip,” Chim offers. “Not really sure how they met or how she got up here. She was here when Hen and I came up to tag out second shift a few minutes ago.”

Hen steps forward. “How do you want us to play this?”

“I’m giving him three seconds before I break the fucking door down,” Eddie says simply. “I need one of you in the car and one of you by the back door,” he adds, tossing the keys in their direction. Hen grabs them out of the air before Chim has a chance, pumping her fist in the air victoriously.

Then, Eddie turns to the door and starts pounding on it. He’s a little surprised when it swings open a few seconds later. A tall blonde woman stands before him, tall heels dangling from her fingers, bare feet padding across the carpeted floor as she steps past him. 

She doesn’t say anything, just looks back at Buck, who’s materialized in the doorway, and blows him a kiss. The second she’s in the elevator, Eddie moves.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he demands, grabbing Buck by the collar and pulling him into the room, door slamming behind them. 

“Why, you gonna help me find it?” Buck shoots back. 

“You’re infuriating,” Eddie hisses. “Do you even realize how dangerous this kind of behavior is? What if she was armed?” 

Buck laughs. “Yeah, Eddie. What if?” 

Eddie’s had enough of this, thank you very much. He’s furious, only a few seconds away from his breaking point. Add to that the fact that he’s insanely turned on right now, wanting nothing more than to back Buck up against the wall and have his way with him. 

He grabs the door handle and makes a mental note to ask his therapist about possibly getting to the root of that. 

But then Buck’s fist is in the back of Eddie’s suit jacket, tugging him back. He turns, gets one look at the half-smirk on Buck’s face and the lust in his eyes, and _therapy be damned._

He flips the lock, tugging Buck against his chest and walking him back up against the door. 

Buck inhales sharply as Eddie’s fingers dig into his hips, his teeth grazing his bottom lip, teasing. 

“You waiting for a written invitation?” Buck quips, voice barely above a whisper. 

He can feel Eddie’s grin as their lips crash together. 

Eddie yanks Buck's shirt over his head and pins him against the wall, dropping down to undo his button and fly. Buck's eyes close, his breath hitching as Eddie’s fingers slip under the waistband of his boxers and pull them down along with his pants. His hands grip Buck's hips firmly as he takes him into his mouth. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck bites his lip, eyes screwed shut as he bites back a moan. “Oh my god, _fuck_ , oh my god.” 

Eddie’s fingers dig into Buck's hips as he picks up the pace, his tongue swirling with each bob of his head and _ohmygodohmygod_ Buck actually thinks he might come right then and there. “Bed,” he manages to get out. “Now.” 

Eddie stands up as Buck steps the rest of the way out of his pants, kicking them off and turning to move. 

“What’s that?” Eddie asks, stilling. His fingers graze a red mark at the bottom of Buck's neck, right where it meets his collarbone. He’s not sure how he didn’t see it before. Buck's hand immediately flies up to cover it. 

“No, let me see,” Eddie insists, brushing Buck's hand to the side. Red hot jealousy burns in the pit of Eddie’s stomach as he runs his thumb across it– a smudge of cherry red lipstick.

“It’s nothing,” Buck says. Eddie breathes heavily, pulse thumping as every ounce of self restraint he has works double time to keep him here, feet planted on the floor, and not on the way to find that woman who was foolish enough to think she had a claim to Buck– that Buck could ever be anything but _his._

“Eddie, look at me,” Buck says, voice firm as he takes Eddie’s face in his hands. “Hey, look at me,” he repeats. Eddie finally shifts his glance from his neck to meet his gaze. “It’s not important. Okay? It’s not.”

“Why-”

“It doesn’t mean a thing,” he repeats. “Unless it’s from you, I don’t care.” 

Eddie can’t help himself. Really, he can’t. In a matter of seconds, he’s kissing over the same spot, sucking a mark so deep it’ll be around for days, he’s sure of it. Far longer than the lipstick, that’s for sure. Buck's breath hitches in his throat, both hands laced through Eddie’s hair, holding him against his neck as if his life depends on it. “God, so good,” he murmurs, eyes screwing shut as Eddie bites down quickly before running his tongue over the mark. “Better?” he asks.

“Better,” Eddie murmurs, moving his lips to Buck's. 

“I’m gonna get pretty ladies to kiss me more often, if that’s what it gets me,” Buck says.

“Don’t you dare,” Eddie replies, knocking the grin off Buck's face with a kiss so electric Buck presses a hand to the wall to keep himself steady.

Buck can’t help but laugh at the thought that there’s a world in which he’s anything other than fully, unconditionally, and irrevocably Eddie’s. 

Their lips don’t lose contact as they stumble over to the bed. As Eddie takes off his own clothes, Buck digs around in one of his bags up against the wall. Once he finds what he’s looking for, he tosses the lube and condom at Eddie and drops onto the mattress, shimmying up the bed so his legs aren’t hanging off anymore. 

When Eddie drops down on top of him, pushing Buck's legs apart gently, his breath catches in his throat. “C’mon,” Buck says as Eddie squeezes some of the lube onto his fingers. He starts to rub it between his hands to warm it up, but Buck grabs his wrist and stops him. “Now.”

Eddie doesn’t have to be told twice. He presses a finger into Buck, watching as his eyes roll back in his head and a punched-out moan escapes his lips. “Fuck.” 

He crooks it, brushing across Buck's prostate slowly. “Fuck,” he repeats, eyelashes fluttering. “Do that again.” 

Eddie obliges, dragging his finger in and out again and again. It’s not long before Buck starts to squirm beneath him. “One more?” Eddie asks, met with an eager nod.

“God, yes.” 

He adds a second slicked up finger, scissoring them as Buck starts begging for more. 

“Just fuck me,” he pleads. “Please.” 

“Greedy,” Eddie murmurs, pressing a kiss to Buck’s shoulder. 

“Don’t care,” Buck pants, moving his hips to meet Eddie’s movements. “C’mon, I’m ready.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

Buck nods, “Don’t make me beg.”

“And if I did?” Eddie raises an eyebrow, lips tugging upwards into the faintest hint of a grin. Buck grabs Eddie’s face and pulls it to his, and it’s the wettest, filthiest kiss of Eddie’s life.

He brings his mouth to Eddie’s ear. “What, you want me to tell you I need you inside me? Want you to fuck me so hard I’ll feel it for days? Leave me marked up and-” 

He bites back a moan as Eddie enters him in one swift motion. He wants to be loud, knows Eddie loves it, but the last thing they need is another agent coming in to check that everything’s okay. So he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it as Eddie starts to move.

He pulls out slowly, nearly all the way, before thrusting back in so hard that Buck's head bounces on the mattress.

“So good,” Buck says, grabbing Eddie’s ass in his hands and digging his fingers in. “You’re so good to me.”

And then Eddie picks up the pace and all of Buck's hopes of keeping quiet fly right out the window. 

He pulls his knee towards his chest and Eddie’s next thrust hits even deeper. Buck is _floating_. Beneath Eddie’s touch, he’s reduced to nothing but short gasps, murmured praise, breathy swear words, and goo where his bones once were. 

It’s over too soon, Eddie stilling as his orgasm comes over him. His toes curl as he drops a kiss to Buck's collarbone, heaving a sigh. Buck moves his hand between them, but Eddie bats it away, sliding down to his knees and taking him in his mouth. It doesn't take long– Buck comes almost immediately, his finger knotting in Eddie's hair as his vision whites out. The second he's able to move again, he pulls Eddie up and meets his lips in a kiss. 

“She’s a friend from home,” Buck says a few minutes later, staring up at the ceiling as he catches his breath. “Dana.”

“Oh,” is all Eddie manages to say. “Okay.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Buck continues. 

“The lipstick–”

“She had it in her hand as she was helping me get the knot out of my tie. It brushed up against my neck. I honestly thought I got it all.”

Eddie can’t keep the soft smile off his face. Of course. He can’t help but kick himself a little, a little bit of regret and self-loathing sneaking in as he recognizes that he should’ve known Buck wouldn’t do that to him. 

“We grew up together,” Buck continues. “She’s like family. She owns one of the clubs out here with her husband. And this week was hard and I just… I needed someone. You know?” 

Eddie nods. He knows the stress of this campaign eats away at Buck a little more each day. “No, I get it. I'm sorry."

“Don’t be,” Buck replies, his voice low as he admits, “I like it when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Eddie lies through his teeth. 

“Sure you’re not,” Buck says. “Anyway. How was your trip? Relaxing?”

Eddie scoffs, turning over to face him. “Yeah, three days of family court with my ex wife and another two with my judgmental parents was exactly what the doctor ordered.” 

Buck freezes. He hadn’t realized that’s what Eddie was doing. Suddenly, he feels like a huge asshole. Here he thought he and Shannon were on some special trip to the place where they fell in love to rekindle their marriage. “I– I didn’t realize. Sorry.” 

“Yeah, well you kind of went radio silent the second I told you I was leaving,” Eddie points out. “I figured you just didn’t–”

“Care?” Buck asks, finishing his sentence. Eddie can’t tell if it’s hurt, regret, or some combination of the two that’s thick on his voice. “Fuck. No, Eddie. I care. Probably too much, actually. I’m sorry.” 

He knows he probably shouldn’t care as much as he does. This – him and Eddie– is Just Sex, after all. At least that’s what they’ve been telling themselves since that first night in Iowa. 

“It’s fine,” Eddie says. 

“No, it’s not,” Buck insists. “You told me you were going away and then you mentioned Shannon was on your flight and Chris was staying with your grandma and I just… Well, it's possible that I constructed a narrative in my head.” 

“You? Jumping to conclusions? That’s pretty out of character,” Eddie deadpans. 

Buck rolls his eyes, smacking Eddie’s arm with the back of his hand. “Well, I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” Eddie replies. “Not like you were the only doing that today.”

“Well, we both fucked up,” Buck says. “The way I see it, they cancel each other out. An eye for an eye. Tit for tat. So we’re good.” 

Eddie makes a face. “You just wanted to say tit.”

Buck laughs, standing up and tracking down his pants. “Maybe.” He tosses Eddie a pile of his own clothes.

“Either way, you’re right,” Eddie says, pulling on his shirt. “We’re good,” he confirms. 

“We are?” 

Eddie nods. “Always.”

"Oh wait," Buck says after a beat, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. "I almost forgot. I got you something." 

"You did?"

"Well, not _you_ , per se." He finishes the button on his sleeve before kneeling down and digging in his bag. He pulls something out and tosses it to Eddie. 

Eddie turns it over in his palm, his breath catching in his throat when he realizes what it is.

It's a Grand Canyon magnet, the words in big red letters on top of hand-painted resin. 

"Buck," is all Eddie's able to get out. He swallows around a lump in his throat. 

"For Christopher," Buck says. "We drove through this morning, and I had the bus stop. I figured..." his voice trails off. "If you don't want it, no worries. I just thought–"

"No, it's perfect." Eddie's voice is thick with emotion. He clears his throat in an attempt to be a little bit more casual, but it's useless. His eyes sparkle as he looks up at Buck. He pulls him in for a hug, wrapping his arms around the taller man and pulling him into his chest. 

His heart feels like it's too big for his chest all of a sudden, like it very well might explode all over the walls of this Vegas hotel room. "Thank you," he murmurs into Buck's hair. "It's perfect," he repeats. 

Buck can think of something else in this room that's perfect, or, rather, some _one_ else. But he keeps his thoughts to himself, reminds himself that this is Just Sex and two people who are having Just Sex don't say things like _you're perfect_ and _I think I'm falling for you_ _._ They also don't pick out souvenirs for the other's child, but Buck never claimed to be perfect.

So instead, he opts for a moment of levity, if not for anything more than to distract himself from the way his chest is burning in the very best way. "Perfect, just like me." 

And despite Eddie knowing damn well that they agreed from the jump that feelings were off limits, he can't help himself. Not when it feels like his heart beats for Buck and Buck alone sometimes. Not when his chest squeezes and his eyes sparkle and that bunch of butterflies in his gut flutter their wings each time they get a moment alone. And certainly not when Buck does things like this and shows just how much he adores Christopher. So yeah, Eddie's a goner. He's beyond fucked. But in this moment, he couldn't possibly care less. Consequences be damned.

So, he runs a hand through Buck's hair and grins. "Yeah. Just like you." 


	3. the one with gray shirts and 11:11 wishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is for all of you wanting a glimpse into eddie and buck telling chris :D
> 
> set three years into buck's presidency, a few months before his speech telling the nation he and eddie are together
> 
> rating: general  
> word count: 1179

“Which one?” Buck asks, turning to Maddie. He has two t-shirts in his hands, each of them on their own hanger. He alternates holding each one in front of his chest. 

“They’re the same,” Maddie says. 

Buck rolls his eyes. “No, they’re not.” 

Madde looks at him incredulously. “Yes, they are.” 

“This one is heather,” he says, holding it up. “And this one is charcoal.” He holds the second one to his chest. 

“They’re both gray,” Maddie points out. 

“What an astute observation,” Buck says dryly. “Can’t get anything past you.” 

Maddie groans, dropping back onto the bed dramatically. “The one on the left.”

Buck raises his eyebrows. 

“I meant the right?” she half-says, half-asks. 

He nods, pulling it off the hanger. “Alright, cool. That’s what I was thinking, too. Thanks, Mads.” 

He pulls the shirt over his head and turns to look in the mirror. Satisfied, he turns back around to face his sister. “Good?”

“Perfect,” she nods. “Will you calm down now?”

“I’m calm,” Buck says, despite it being a complete and total lie.

“You’re so nervous you’re about to start buzzing. And why are you so worried about what you look like today? I thought you’re just going over to Eddie’s.” 

He sighs. “I am. But Eddie is telling Chris about us,” he checks his watch. “Probably right this second, actually. And I just… I’m going over and…”

“You want it to be special,” Maddie says, smiling. She stands up, smoothing out the front of Buck’s shirt. “That’s sweet.” 

He takes a long, deep breath, flexing his fingers at his sides. The nervous energy coming off of him is almost palpable. 

“You really think he’s going to be anything but happy?” Maddie asks. Of all the people on this earth, there’s not a doubt in her mind that Christopher will be the _most_ excited about this development. Besides, Christopher is a smart kid. Eddie and Buck have been sneaking around for close to five years now and seriously involved for the last two. Chances are, he knows _something_ is up. "He's going to be thrilled, I know it."

“That’s what Eddie said,” Buck replies.   
  
  
They’d been talking about it for weeks– trying to find the right time for Eddie to let Christopher know that he and Buck are more than just friends. Eddie couldn’t help but notice the way Buck’s energy shifted, how he tensed up and went quiet each time the conversation came up.

“Do you not want me to tell him?” Eddie had asked. “If you don’t, it’s okay. I just–”

“What? No. God, no. I want you to tell him. I really do.” 

“Then what is it?”  
“I don’t know,” Buck had admitted. “I just… what if he isn’t happy?” 

Eddie’s face twisted up, confused. “What? Buck, no. He’s going to lose his mind in the very best way.” 

“You don’t know that,” Buck protested. “What if he’s upset? If he doesn’t want this?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“I don’t…” His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words. “I never want to do anything that’ll upset him. And if this does, then–” he didn’t want to finish his sentence, didn’t want to mention the possibility of him and Eddie ending things. He didn’t dare to speak it into existence, even as a hypothetical. 

“Hey,” Eddie had said, taking Buck’s face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “He’s going to be thrilled. Trust me. And if hell freezes over and pigs start flying and for some reason he isn’t, then we’ll go from there. Together.”   
  
  
Buck’s leg bounces the entire way over to Eddie’s. He hasn’t felt nerves like this in ages. His chest squeezes, his breath feels heavy with each inhale as the car makes its way across D.C.

“You okay back there?” Bobby asks from behind the wheel. 

Buck nods.

“You sure?”

He nods again. 

“You want to turn back?” Bobby asks. 

“No, I’m good,” Buck replies. He realizes Bobby must think he’s having second thoughts about sneaking out of the White House, which he’s not. He never has, oddly enough– he’s always trusted Eddie with his life and then some, and Eddie’s signed off on this plan that’s become their go-to in recent months. 

Buck gets into an unmarked, bulletproof SUV in the staff parking garage. He wears a bulletproof vest under his shirt, the car windows are tinted past the point of visibility, and he’s driven across town by a plainclothes agent. Two more follow in their own unmarked car, and Eddie waits in the hallway of his building for their arrival, making sure it’s all clear before Buck hops out of the car and books it upstairs. 

To anyone watching the White House gates, it looks like a random White House employee driving home. No one would ever suspect it’s the President sneaking across town to see his boyfriend and his child. 

When they pull up to Eddie’s, Buck’s whole body is practically buzzing. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he opens the door. The second he sees Eddie at the door, his heartbeat starts to even out. 

And when he steps inside, the door closing behind them as Eddie pulls him in for a kiss, it all melts away. Eddie’s presence is immediately grounding, pulling Buck out of his thoughts almost instantly. “How’d it go?” Buck asks. 

“See for yourself,” Eddie says with a grin. “Hey, Chris! We have a visitor!” he calls across the apartment. 

The sound of Christopher’s crutches on the hallway floor is almost immediate. “Bucky!” he cries, breaking into a huge grin. He throws his arms around Buck’s legs, hugging him tightly.

Buck thinks he might explode. The smile stretching across his face is so big it nearly hurts, his eyes suddenly brimming with happy tears. “Hey, buddy.” 

“Is it true?” Chris asks, looking up at him expectantly. “You and my dad are in love?” 

Buck smiles, looking over at Eddie and then back to Christopher. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s true. A whole lot of love, actually. Is that okay with you?”

Christopher nods. “This is the best day ever.” 

Buck drops down so he can hug Chris properly. He scoops him up, standing up so Eddie can join in. He wraps his arms around them both, his heart feeling so full he thinks it might be hanging a bit lower in his chest. 

“I’m going to need a new wish,” Christopher says later. He’s sitting between Buck and Eddie on the couch, some animated movie playing on the TV in front of them. 

“Hmm?” Eddie replies, glancing down at his son. “Why’s that, bud?”

“Well, at 11:11 I always wish that Buck could be in our family. It came true, so now I need a new wish.” 

Buck looks over at Eddie through shiny eyes, only to see his eyes glistening too. They share a knowing smile, Eddie tousling Christopher’s hair as Buck takes a deep breath and tries to figure out how in the world he ever got this lucky. 


	4. the one with an interrupted shower and a parent teacher conference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for the lovely [rebecca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BSunsetTowers/pseuds/221BSunsetTowers) who requested buck and eddie at a parent-teacher conference :D thank you for the prompt! this was a fun one. 
> 
> set about ten months after buck leaves office 
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 2287

“Hey,” Buck pokes his head into the bathroom, the steam from Eddie’s shower swirling around him as it pours through the now-open door and into the bedroom. “Eddie!”

“Yeah?” Eddie pokes his head around the shower curtain. “Everything okay?”

“Christopher’s teacher just sent out the sign up form for parent-teacher conferences. How’s 7:15 on Thursday night?” 

Eddie blinks, wiping water away from his face. “We have to do this right now?”

Buck nods eagerly. “It’s cutthroat, babe. These parents are like snipers. Every minute we waste is another prime slot snatched out from under us.” 

“Snipers,” Eddie says back to him, in hopes Buck will realize how ridiculous he sounds. He shuts off the water, giving up on any possibility of rinsing the conditioner from his hair anytime soon. 

“Yes, Eddie,” Buck replies. “Snipers. Every one of ‘em.”

“He says to a literal sniper,” Eddie quips. 

Buck rolls his eyes. “That was what, eleven years ago?” he asks, referencing the few months during the previous administration that Eddie spent working as a sniper on the White House roof. “You can’t pull that card any more. Statute of limitations is up.” 

Eddie shakes his head, flipping him off and switching the water back on. He’s got about half of the conditioner rinsed out when the curtain slides open dramatically. “So 7:15?” Buck asks expectantly. “Although it could already be claimed by the time I refresh the page, so if we can’t get 7:15, I’ll try for 7:30.” 

“You pick,” Eddie says, corners of his mouth tugging up into a small smile. The fact that– with Eddie standing before him, soaking wet, naked as the day he was born– Buck’s eyes haven’t traveled south for even a second is a testament to how important this is to him. Eddie can’t bear to drag it out any longer. "I trust you.” 

It’s such a trivial thing– scheduling a meeting– but Buck can’t help but feel warm inside at Eddie’s words.  _ I trust you.  _ His heart thumps against his ribcage.

He practically bounds back into the bedroom to grab his laptop, not bothering to close the shower curtain he swept open just a moment before. Only a few seconds pass before he calls back, “Got it! 7:15!” 

Eddie can’t help but break into a grin. This is the man he’s spent the last ten years with– the one he’ll spend the rest of his life with. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He shakes the water from his hair, turning the water off for good this time and reaching for his towel. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Buck says, voice low as he materializes in the doorway. He looks Eddie up and down, eyes raking over his body slowly. When met with a grin and a small nod from Eddie, he tugs at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. Eddie flips the water back on as Buck ditches the rest of his clothes on the tiled floor. 

“Yes sir, Mr. President.”

“Almost ready, babe?” Buck calls up the stairs. He checks his watch again as he waits for Eddie’s reply. 

Eddie’s upstairs, shirt halfway over his head when Buck’s voice reaches him. “Two minutes!” he calls back. 

“Hurry up!” 

Eddie mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like  _ Jesus fucking Christ.  _ He finishes pulling his shirt on and runs a hand through his hair to smooth it back into place. 

He grabs his phone off the mattress and a pair of socks from the dresser and heads down the stairs. Turning the corner into the kitchen, he glances at the clock on the oven. 6:47. 

“We have a half hour,” he says, dropping into one of the barstools at the island long enough to pull his socks on. 

Buck is practically pacing by the door that leads to the garage. “What if there’s traffic?”

“It’s upstate New York on a Thursday night,” Eddie points out, stepping into his shoes. 

“Parking is always a variable.”

“In the thousand-spot parking lot?” Maddie chimes in, walking in through the front door with Chim a few steps behind. 

One of the best parts of their move up to New York was Maddie and Chim’s decision to come too. Buck was still going to need a Chief of Staff even after leaving office, and he’d need Secret Service detail for the rest of his life, too. Maddie didn’t want to be five hours away from her brother and Chim wanted to be anywhere Maddie was, especially after their wedding last year. 

It was a no-brainer, moving up to New York with Buck and Eddie. They even got a house half a mile down the road. Chim had his pick of positions on Buck’s new, scaled-back detail, and chose to be Christopher’s agent at school. There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe the love Buck felt when he heard that news. 

Maddie and Chim are on babysitting duty tonight, taking care of Chris in Buck and Eddie’s absence. 

Buck glances over at his sister and rolls his eyes, holding the car keys out to Eddie. When he doesn’t take them quickly enough, Buck starts shaking them. 

“We have plenty of time.” Eddie can’t help but smile as he presses a kiss to Buck’s lips, taking the keys from his outstretched hand. “But it’s very cute how excited you are for this.”

“Well, I’ve never been able to go to one before,” Buck reminds him. 

It’s not that he hasn’t wanted to, but Christopher’s old school in D.C. had a strict policy stating only legal guardians could attend conferences. 

_ But Buck is my family,  _ Christopher had said when he heard, which had Eddie’s heart stuck between breaking and melting. 

Buck’s term ending and the move up to New York lined up perfectly with Christopher’s start of high school. They finished out the spring in D.C. and headed up to the dream house at the end of June, and Chris started school the first week of September.

It’s their first year having Christopher all the time, with Shannon having moved back to Texas that same summer. She dropped the bomb a few weeks after Buck left office, telling Eddie on a cold February morning that she was moving home in June and that she thought Christopher should stay put. 

She only asked for him three weeks each summer and visitation rights throughout the year, which had Eddie cycling between feeling furious that she was leaving, understanding why she was doing it, and being elated that he'd see Christopher 90% of the time now instead of 50%. 

They didn’t tell Christopher for a few months– not until it was all sorted out. 

Eddie had been a wreck the whole time – Buck will never forget the sleepless nights, hushed phone conversations, and red-rimmed eyes– but it all went away when the four of them sat down to break the news and Christopher hugged Buck first. 

And at the new school up here, Buck is more than welcome at conferences. When they sat down with the principal and Christopher’s guidance counselor back in August to go over everything as the school year approached, Eddie had asked. 

He knew how much it killed Buck not being able to be a part of Christopher’s life at school in past years. The principal had nodded without hesitation, passing Eddie a form that would authorize Buck to view Christopher’s records, speak to his teachers, and pick him up from school. Buck’s eyes had lit up like flashbulbs, his foot knocking against Eddie’s beneath the table as if to say  _ thank you. _

“Have fun, you two,” Maddie says. Chris has already pulled Chim away, eager to show him a new video game he just got. 

“Bye, Chris!” Eddie calls. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the days when Chris was younger and would run to the door to give Eddie an extra hug before he left. Now, he’s lucky if he gets a response half the time. Teenagers. 

“I’m excited,” Buck says, pulling the door closed behind them as they step into the garage. 

“Me too. I’m glad you’re coming.” 

“We’re going to get to see his locker, right?” Buck asks as they climb into the car. “They told us it would be close to all his classrooms, but what does  _ close  _ mean? It’s so subjective. Well, I guess Chim would’ve told us if it was an issue. But maybe he doesn’t want to overstep? I wonder if–”

“Take a breath, Buckley,” Eddie cuts in. He reaches over the center console, placing a hand on Buck’s knee and squeezing reassuringly. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have the same concerns, that the fears that came along with Chris starting at a new school didn’t sometimes keep him up at night.

“I’m sure it’s okay,” Eddie says. Then, he lowers his voice, whispering although they’re the only two in the car. “But we should totally scope it out just in case.” 

Buck snakes his hand under Eddie’s, lacing their fingers together and bringing Eddie’s hand up to his lips. He kisses it, glancing over at his husband. “I knew I liked you.” 

Sure enough, they’re almost twenty minutes early. There are two agents in a car ahead of them and another two behind them, as is standard these days when Buck goes anywhere. It’s a welcome change from the Presidential motorcade, one that Buck appreciates more than he ever could’ve imagined. 

Being so early gives them plenty of time to walk around the building. They all but beeline for Christopher’s locker and are pleased to see it’s in a central, accessible area. They find each one of his classrooms, all within the same two hallways and in short walking distance of one another. 

And then down another hallway, Eddie spots one of Christopher’s art projects hanging up on a bulletin board. It’s some type of abstract painting– Eddie isn’t really certain what it is exactly, but he is certain that his heart skips a beat or two when Buck pulls his phone out, snapping a picture of it. 

Buck’s practically buzzing with nervous energy when they’re called into the classroom. They introduce themselves to his homeroom teacher, who launches into an overview of the curriculum this year. As soon as she finishes giving them an update on Christopher’s classes, she passes them a copy of his progress report. 

They scan it over, eyes meeting after they reach the end. Buck raises his eyebrows, Eddie breaking into a grin. 

“So, as you can see, straight As,” the teacher says. 

“That’s our boy,” Eddie says. Buck actively tries not to melt into the floor.  _ Our boy.  _

“He’s doing a great job,” she continues. “His other teachers adore him, and he’s done an exceptional job adjusting to high school. We often see a little bit of apprehension from students at the beginning of ninth grade, but not from Christopher.”

“He’s fearless,” Buck says, eyes bright. Eddie nods in agreement. 

She nods. “So we’ve seen. He’s a smart kid, and sweet, too. You guys really won the lottery with him.”

_ You have no idea _ is what Buck wants to say. But Eddie beats him to it, nodding and saying, “We know it.” 

The teacher passes them another piece of paper. “This is from his English class. At the beginning of the year, we have students complete a brief writing assignment. We use it just to see what skills they have coming into the year. It’s pretty simple, as you can see. ‘Who’s your hero?’ was the prompt this year, and this is what Christopher wrote.”

Eddie holds the paper up between them, their eyes glued to it as they read Christopher’s writing. 

_ I have two heroes. The first one is my dad, Edmundo Diaz. He’ll look at you funny if you call him that, though. So I just call him Dad. He is a Secret Service agent which means he keeps the President safe. That’s actually how he met my bonus dad. My bonus dad is Buck. Most people call him President Evan Buckley. I just call him Buck. I think a lot of people can say that Buck is their hero. He made a lot of hard decisions and worked really hard to keep everyone in this country safe and happy. It’s important to be safe, but it’s important to be happy, too. Buck always says that if we’re safe and happy, all that’s left is to be together. And when we have all three there’s no stopping us. _

Buck can’t breathe in the very best way, all the breath punched out of his lungs. Eddie looks over at him, some combination of awe and pride written across his face. 

“C-Can we keep this?” Eddie asks after a beat. They’re totally fucking framing it, if he has anything to say about it. 

She smiles. “Absolutely. It’s yours to keep, as is his progress report. If you have any questions or concerns about anything, let me or his counselor know. But I think I speak for all his teachers when I say we are incredibly proud of him.” 

Buck is floating as they make their way hand-in-hand down the hallway and out to the car. As soon as they get into the car, Eddie leans over, meeting Buck’s lips in a kiss. “Look at our guy,” he says. “Crushing it. He’s amazing.”

Buck’s chest could actually explode, he’s sure of it. He runs his thumb across Eddie’s cheek. “He gets it from his dad,” he says. 

Eddie grins, dropping another kiss to Buck’s lips. “His bonus dad, maybe.” 


	5. the one with one drunk email and one fiercely protective eddie diaz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is inspired by [claire33333](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire33333/pseuds/claire33333) asking for buck's parents, along with many requests for some protective!eddie (y'all are totally my people)  
> so wihout futher ado....
> 
> set a couple years into buck's presidency - established buddie but still a secret from the public :)  
> rating: t  
> word count: 3991

Eddie slips into the Oval Office a few minutes after midnight, closing the door behind himself. The night agents outside the door didn’t so much as blink when Eddie came through. 

Buck is sitting beneath his desk, his favorite hiding spot. When Eddie crouches to meet his eyes, Buck’s face lights up. “You came,” he says through a smile, alcohol thick on his breath. The crystal scotch decanter from the tray on the other side of the room is on the floor beside him, both the decanter and the matching crystal glass beside it completely empty. 

“Of course I did,” Eddie says quietly. He’d follow Buck over a cliff. Coming to the White House in the middle of the night was a drop in the bucket of things he’d do if Buck asked. 

When his phone rang earlier and he saw Buck’s name, he picked up immediately. “Hey. You okay?” he had asked by way of greeting. When he was met with silence, he tried again, sitting up straight in bed, suddenly wide awake. “Buck? Hey. Answer me. What’s wrong?” 

“Never mind, I’m sorry.” Buck’s voice came through the phone after a beat, sounding absolutely wrecked. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t–”

“Buck,” Eddie said, voice thick with concern. “It’s not nothing. What’s going on?”

“My dad’s in town.” 

Eddie was out the door and in the car in a matter of seconds. 

He’s known Buck for three years. Thirty four months of which they’ve been sleeping together, thirteen months of which Buck has been the President, twelve months of which Eddie’s been sneaking in and out of the residence any night he can. And in all that time, he’s never once met either of Buck’s parents. Though he’s heard more than he needs to in order to form an opinion about them, that’s for sure. 

One time on the campaign trail, a few months out from the election, Buck and Eddie were the only two awake on the bus as they cruised through middle America after a long day of speaking engagements. They were both borderline delirious from lack of sleep, each of them too overtired to close his eyes and fall asleep. 

Buck had nudged Eddie’s shoulder as they passed a sign stating the 45 MPH speed limit. “This one time when I was in high school,” he began. “I got pulled over for speeding in my hometown. The cop clocked me at 54 in a 45 so I told him I was dyslexic.” 

“You didn’t,” Eddie replied, eyes wide. 

Buck had nodded, a hint of a grin on his face. “It worked, too.” He paused for a beat, before adding, “I feel like it’s worth noting that I now know how wrong that was.” 

Eddie had closed his eyes, smiling as he rested his head against the back of the seat. “Your parents must have loved that.” 

“It's been twenty years and they still don’t know.”

“Really?”

Buck had nodded. “Not like they were around to hear it even if I tried to tell them.”

Eddie pressed, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He knew Buck didn’t like talking about his life before he moved in with Maddie when he was 16. But it was the first time he didn’t immediately change the subject at the mention of his parents, so Eddie pushed. “What do you mean?” he asked, opening his eyes and glancing over at Buck, who shrugged. 

“They just were never there. There were galas, and foundations, and board meetings, and trips every weekend.” 

“Who took care of you?” 

“Maddie and the nannies.” 

“Nannies?” he had asked, placing emphasis on the end of the word. “As in plural?”

Buck had nodded. “God forbid they had to parent a single second of the day.” 

Eddie’s contentious relationship with his own parents stemmed from the complete opposite– the fact that they were overbearing, overly critical, and simply put: never gave him a goddamn minute to breathe. He can’t even begin to count all the times he wished and prayed that they’d leave him alone, but as he watched the light leave Buck’s eyes as he spoke, he wasn’t sure he’d want to trade.

He wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t push any boundaries, so instead he just knocked Buck’s knee gently with his own, not missing the way Buck let out a soft exhale at the contact. 

And then after the election, there was a day back in D.C. where Buck barely spoke a single word. The light was gone from his eyes, his jaw set as he moved through the day like a robot. 

“He invited our parents to the inauguration,” Maddie had offered up about halfway through the day, her voice hushed as she spoke to Eddie and Chim. “They declined.” 

“They’re not going to come see their son be inaugurated as President?” Eddie had asked in disbelief, before he had a chance to stop himself. Normally, he’d be far more reserved, would have made certain to keep any emotion out of his voice. But this had struck a nerve.

Maddie shook her head. “They’re assholes,” she said. “I just... part of me thought they’d come to this, at the very least. I figured, if they could show up for Buck just once in his life, this is the day to do it.”

Eddie’s heart broke at the same time his blood started to boil. 

Maddie continued, “Buck spent every minute of the first sixteen years of his life trying to please them, and they just… they couldn’t give less of a shit if they tried.”

Eddie had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning searching every government database, pulling every detail he could on Mark and Elaine Buckley. And he didn’t like a single bit of what he saw. From what he could gather, they were neglectful at worst, absent at best. 

There were over nine hundred flight manifests with their names on them from the time Buck was born to the time he graduated high school. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in credit card statements each year, the bills rife with expensive jewelry, designer clothes, luxury cars, fancy restaurants. All paid in full. 

There was an entire year where they lived in the south of France, but when Eddie checked the school records, he realized that Buck and Maddie were left behind. Upon further investigation, he found that the Buckleys employed four nannies, an au pair, two drivers, and three housekeepers that year. Eddie did the math– Buck was four years old that year, Maddie seven. 

It was no wonder Buck didn’t like talking about his parents. He barely knew them. 

Buck and his dad had a rocky relationship, to say the least. They hadn’t spoken for real since Buck started his run for President nearly four years ago now– let alone seen each other– Buck having built his walls up high and reinforcing them with steel in an effort to protect himself from the man who’d let him down time and time again. 

And now, seeing Buck sitting beneath his desk, knees pulled up to his chest and eyes glistening and rimmed in red, Eddie wants nothing more than to fold him into his arms and hold him close. He takes Buck’s hand in his, pulling him to his feet. He places a hand on his waist to steady him, saying, “C’mon, let’s go.” 

“I hate him,” Buck says quietly, his voice breaking. 

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. His heart aches for Buck. It’s too hot in here, the air stuffy and clinging to his sweat-damp skin. He takes Buck by the wrist and weaves through the room until they reach the doors to the back patio. 

“Baby,” Buck murmurs, leaning into Eddie’s side. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, struggling to keep his thoughts straight. His heart twists up each time Buck calls him that, even after all this time. It feels good– feels _right._ He wants to bottle it up and save it forever, wants to bathe in it and drink it in and hear him say it again, a million times over. 

He also wants to wrap Buck up in his arms and hold him tight, wants to go find his dad and beat the everloving crap out of him, wants to tell Buck he loves him and that his dad can go fuck himself. There’s so much swirling around _his_ mind, he can’t even begin to imagine what Buck’s feeling right now. 

Except for having a dad who’s kind of a dick. Eddie knows that like the back of his hand. 

But Buck is so wasted that much of it would be lost on him anyway. It becomes more and more apparent with each step he takes, Eddie holding up the majority of his weight as they make their way out into the garden. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d think Buck had taken a bath in the scotch, the scent of it coming off him in waves as he stumbles beside Eddie, leaning into his touch with each step. 

“Take a deep breath,” Eddie says. He’s not sure if he’s telling Buck or himself. 

Buck looks to be on the verge of a complete breakdown, but he does as Eddie says. He takes a deep breath in, slow and shaky. When he exhales, he chokes on a sob, folding in on himself. Eddie’s got an arm around him, pulling him into his chest and holding him tight. 

“Shh,” Eddie murmurs into Buck’s hair. “I got you.” 

It’s just the two of them out here, totally silent except for the muffled boot steps of the snipers walking back and forth on the roof four stories above them. Eddie knows from his time as a White House sniper a few years back that they can’t see or hear the two of them down here, but even if they could, he wouldn’t care. The only thing that’s important to him right now is making sure Buck’s taken care of. 

He’s not sure how long they stand like that, Buck shaking in Eddie’s arms as his body wracks with sobs. Eddie’s got a hand in the hair on the back of Buck’s head, the other rubbing reassuring circles into the small of his back. “I got you,” he repeats, over and over until Buck’s breath starts coming normally again. 

“C’mon,” Eddie says after a minute, taking Buck’s hand in his, their fingers lacing together. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home.” 

“Your house?” Buck asks hopefully. 

Eddie sighs, shaking his head. He wants nothing more, but there’s no way he could swing it, even if they tried. 

“The residence,” Eddie clarifies. “I can’t take you to my place, as much as I want to. No one’s working tonight who knows the drill.” 

Buck frowns, his eyes still glistening as he mutters something under his breath. Eddie can’t make out what he says, but it sounds a lot like “Everyone leaves.” 

“Not me,” Eddie says back, so quietly he’s not even sure Buck can hear him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But then Buck squeezes his hand, and all is right again. 

They walk around the outside of the building to a side entrance that can lead them right up to the residence. Eddie ushers Buck inside, dropping his hand as he holds the door open for him. Buck pouts at the loss of contact, but heads inside nonetheless. Once they’re behind the doors of the residence, Buck beelines for the couch. He throws himself face down across the cushions, not bothering to kick off his shoes first. 

Eddie disappears for a second, only to find Buck’s asleep by the time he returns less than a minute later with a glass of water. He decides to let him sleep. 

Eddie sits down on the edge of the couch, letting Buck’s head rest in his lap as he snores gently. He runs his fingers through Buck’s hair absentmindedly as he pulls out his phone. He opens up one of the databases and starts searching. 

He finds the hotel where Buck’s dad is staying in a matter of minutes– the Four Seasons in Georgetown. Of course it is. He could’ve called that from a mile away with a blindfold on. 

He thought that knowing exactly where Buck’s father was would make him feel better, but it doesn’t do much to quell the uneasy feeling. The knots twisting inside his gut feel the same as the ones that formed when Christopher came home from school last week and told Eddie that there was a kid making fun of his crutches. His blood feels too hot as it runs through his veins now, just like it did that day. 

His mind wanders as Buck sleeps. It’s nearly an hour before Buck starts to stir. His eyes blink, opening slowly as he glances around and gets his bearings. He sits up, turning to face Eddie with sleepy eyes and disheveled hair. 

“You stayed?”

Eddie nods, passing Buck the water he got for him earlier. “Like I said,” Eddie says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Buck chews on his bottom lip, looking for the right words. He can’t find them, though in his defense he’s not sure if enough words exist in the English language to accurately describe the love he feels for Eddie. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket instead, opening his email and holding it out for Eddie to take. 

Eddie takes it from him and skims the note on screen, each line raising his blood pressure more than the previous. 

_My name is Jamie. I’m your father’s executive assistant. Your father has asked me to reach out and inform you that he will be in D.C. this weekend. Please let me know what events to add to his calendar as soon as you’re able._

Eddie’s heart breaks for Buck. He looks up from the phone, met with Buck’s red-rimmed eyes. “He couldn’t even tell me himself,” Buck says. “He wants to come and schmooze at the White House and he doesn’t even respect me enough to ask himself. He has his assistant do it.” 

“Unbelievable,” Eddie’s voice has a cold edge to it. If not for fear of causing a national incident and losing his job, he’d head to the Four Seasons and beat him to dust. 

“I want to tell him to fuck off,” Buck says, nodding at the phone still in Eddie’s hand. He’s waiting for Eddie to be the logical one, to remind him he’s the leader of the free world and he needs to keep his integrity and wits about him. 

Imagine his surprise when Eddie glances down at the phone and then back up at Buck and says, “Well, what’s stopping you?”

“The inevitable headlines.”

Eddie nods thoughtfully. “Well, then let’s do it nicely.” 

“What, tell him to fuck off?” 

Eddie nods. “Not in so many words. But yeah.” 

And then he’s typing, holding it out for Buck to read the second he finishes. 

_I have no room in my schedule for Mark, nor do I have the desire to make any. I hope you have a lovely trip to D.C., Jamie– the cherry blossoms are beautiful this time of year._

Buck grins. It’s perfect. He reaches over, tapping SEND before he has a second to think twice. 

He leans in, pressing a scotch-laced kiss to Eddie’s lips. 

“Thank you,” he says. He kisses Eddie again. “For that. For coming earlier. For staying. Just… thank you.” 

Buck’s not sure he’s been this hungover since the morning after his inauguration. He and Maddie had party hopped all night, and then they had stayed up late with Eddie, Chim, Hen, and Bobby, eating pizza and drinking champagne from the bottle on the floor of the residence.

As his alarm goes off, he feels no different than he did that morning, except he didn’t have the fun night of partying beforehand. Just a fifth of scotch on the floor of the Oval Office and a lot of crying. His eyeballs feel hot in his head, his tongue and throat dry, his head pounding with each step he takes.

It’s midmorning– hour four of this godforsaken hangover– he and Eddie are making their way down one of the corridors in the West Wing, on his way to a meeting with the VP when he hears it. 

“Evan!” 

Buck’s blood runs cold. He’d know that voice anywhere. He freezes, stopping dead in his tracks.

Eddie reacts before Buck can, ushering him into the closest room and shutting the door instantly. “It’s okay,” Eddie says, placing a hand on Buck’s shoulder. He squeezes it gently, reassuringly. 

“How did he get in here?” Buck asks. He doesn't bother asking how Eddie knew that it was his dad– he knows Eddie well enough to know that the list of things Eddie _isn’t_ clued in on is pretty small. Microscopic, even. 

Eddie can’t help but notice all the color has drained from Buck’s face. He looks exhausted all of a sudden, like a shell of himself. 

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But I’ll find out.”

He gets on his radio and asks for details and a few agents to come assist. “Central command says he came in with a tour group. Bought a ticket and everything,” Eddie offers a moment later.

Buck just nods, his words caught in his throat. 

“Do you want to talk to him?” Eddie asks. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer, but he has to ask. 

Buck shakes his head. “No. No, I want him gone.” 

Eddie nods. “Okay. I’m on it.” 

Not even thirty seconds later, Bobby’s coming through the side door. “Get him to the Oval,” Eddie instructs. “I’ll meet you there.” They leave through the side door as Eddie heads out the main one, back into the hallway to face Buck’s father. 

Buck’s dad sees him and Bobby sneaking through the side door and moves to catch up to him. “Evan, wait!”

Eddie’s having None of That, _thank you very much._ He steps forward instantly, blocking his path to Buck. 

Buck must have insisted on stopping, because Bobby stops too, standing beside him as Eddie deals with his dad. He’s far enough that his dad can’t reach him, but still close enough that he can hear Eddie, his voice cold and unwavering as he asks, “Can I help you, sir?” His jaw is set, lips pressed into a straight line. 

“Yeah, I’m Mark Buckley,” he says, as if that alone is supposed to mean something. 

“And I’m Eddie Diaz,” Eddie replies dryly. “No visitors allowed past this point.” 

“I’m Evan’s father. I have every right to be here, I bought a tour ticket and everything.” He motions to the tour group a ways down the hallway. 

“You’re not welcome here,” Eddie begins “No–”

Mark starts reaching in the breast pocket of his suit jacket for something. When Buck catches a glimpse of the wad of cash in his hand, he nearly laughs out loud. His dad really has no clue who he’s talking to. 

“So?” Mark asks, pulling a few twenties away from the stack in his left hand. “What’ll it take to get me a few minutes with Evan?” 

_A lot more than eighty bucks,_ Buck thinks. 

Eddie is unimpressed. He fights to keep his voice neutral as he says, “We actually have a policy against negotiating with terrorists.” 

Buck nearly chokes on his own breath. He makes a mental note to reward Eddie later for that line alone. 

Mark says nothing, just scowls as he puts the cash back where it came from just a moment ago. 

Eddie takes a step forward, motioning down the hallway towards the exit. “The President doesn’t want to see you,” he says, voice still icy and even. “I’m going to ask you to leave, now.” 

Mark scoffs.

“Sir, the Secret Service is perfectly capable of escorting trespassers out of the White House.”

“Evan,” Mark says, looking over Eddie’s shoulder at Buck, his gaze cold and distant as they lock eyes. “This is not how we raised you.” 

“You have some nerve, you know that?” Eddie snaps, his voice low as to not draw attention. So much for staying neutral.

“Listen, pal,” Mark says, looking back at Eddie. “I’m not leaving until I talk to my son.” 

“You don’t get to call him that,” Eddie practically hisses. “You were hardly a father.” 

“My son is the President of the United States. I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you. Hell, he’s everything he is in spite of you. Evan is the man he is today because you weren’t around enough for your bullshit to rub off on him. America should be thanking their lucky stars that he never had the misfortune of picking up on any of your qualities.” 

Buck thinks he might explode. This might be the best thing he’s ever seen. His chest feels heavy in the very best way, his heart pounding as Eddie words replay on a loop in his mind. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He feels so _seen_ , so loved and protected that he really thinks combustion may very well be in his near future. Certainly never more than when Eddie says, “So you can leave on your own or I can drag you out, but either way, you’re moving in the next five seconds.”

Eddie places a hand on Mark’s bicep, digging his fingers in just enough to let him know who’s really in charge here. “Your choice.” 

If he has to drag this grown man out kicking and screaming, he’ll do it. Hell, he won’t even hesitate. Mark must realize this, because when Eddie starts marching down the hallway, Mark moves with him. Eddie doesn’t let up on his grip on Mark’s arm until they’ve turned the corner. He all but shoves him at the two waiting agents.

“Escort him out, please,” he says. “And add him to the restricted list. He’s banned.” 

Then, he leans in close enough for Mark to hear him clearly. “You show up here again and I arrest you for trespassing. You ever even _think_ of trying to pull a stunt like this again and you’ll deal with me. And next time, I won’t be so patient.” 

He doesn’t wait for Mark’s response before nodding at the agents to take him away, waiting until they’re out the door and out of sight to turn on his heel and make his way towards the Oval Office. He walks straight past Bobby and into the office, closing the door behind him. 

Buck’s pacing in front of his desk, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. He’s got a hand in his hair, running it through his previously-gelled down curls. At the sound of the door closing, he looks up. 

The anxiety immediately melts off his face, his hands dropping to his sides as he locks eyes with Eddie. He nods towards the smaller study off to the side, where there are no cameras and no prying eyes. Eddie follows him without question. 

The second Buck crosses the threshold, he turns and all but yanks Eddie inside. His hands grip Eddie’s hips, pulling him close as their lips meet. Buck’s lips are urgent and insistent against Eddie’s, his touch grounding and all-consuming. “Thank you,” Buck says between kisses. “Oh my god, thank you.” 

Eddie brings a hand up to cup Buck’s cheek. He runs his thumb across his skin, relishing in the feel of Buck smiling beneath his hand. “Don’t mention it,” he says. 

“You have no idea what that meant to me.” 

Eddie smiles, tipping Buck’s face up and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “I’d do it a thousand times again.” 


	6. the one where no one screws with buck's boys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [claire33333](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire33333/pseuds/claire33333) suggested "something about Eddie’s parents thinking they know better than Eddie when it comes to Chris, and Buck being like "lol but no.'" 
> 
> so i said "oh hell yes let's have a couple thousand words of that" and here we are! 
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 2287
> 
> (set a year and a half after buck leaves office)

The first thing Buck hears is a string of Spanish curse words coming from outside. (He only knows that they’re curse words because he made Eddie teach him “all the fun words” a few years back.) He leans back in his office chair, peering through the blinds and into the back yard. Eddie is pacing on the deck, shouting something into his phone. Upon realizing there’s a human being on the other end of Eddie’s rampage and not just a broken down lawn mower or stubbed toe, Buck scrambles to push his chair back and stand up. 

He heads into the kitchen, pulling open the sliding glass door and stepping out onto the deck. The warm summer sun coats his skin almost instantly as he takes a step towards Eddie. Eddie glances over at Buck, holding his hand out as if to say _hold on._ Buck frowns upon noticing that the light is gone from Eddie’s eyes. His face looks pinched and drawn, worn with stress. It’s a stark contrast from the warm eyes and playful smile that Buck woke up beside this morning. 

Whoever’s on the other end of the call says something that causes Eddie to roll his eyes, snap, “Yeah,” and hang up without so much as another word. The second he’s ended the call, he hurls his phone into the yard, a rare display of anger and frustration that Buck hasn’t seen from him in years. Eddie doesn’t bother to look at where his phone landed, doesn't make a move to go get it. He brings his hands to his head, tugging at his hair as he looks up at the sky and takes a long, shaky breath. 

“Talk to me,” Buck says gently. 

“My dad,” is all Eddie says. It’s all he has to say. 

Buck gets it. More than anyone, maybe. “What do you need?” 

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Buck says, voice soft. He steps forward, nudging Eddie’s hands away from his hair. He runs his own hand through it, smoothing it out before taking Eddie’s face in his hands. “What do you need?” he asks again. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie admits, a wet laugh escaping his lips. “I just….” his voice trails off, hot tears welling in his eyes. 

Buck notices instantly, thumbing a stray tear away the second it escapes and starts rolling down Eddie’s cheek. One look at Eddie is all it takes for Buck to know he’s toeing the line between being able to pull himself back and having a total breakdown. 

“They want Christopher to spend the summer in El Paso.”

Buck’s heart sinks. No. No way. He stays silent, waiting for Eddie to continue. 

“He’ll be with Shannon for a few weeks in August,” Eddie reminds him. “And they think that he should come for all of July too.” 

“What? Why?” Buck’s trying to calm his own heartbeat, his pulse racing at the thought of going two whole months without Christopher around. The three weeks without him last August when he was with Shannon in Texas were lonely in a way they hadn’t imagined. The thought of turning three weeks into seven or eight makes Buck feel a little sick.

He thinks about sparklers in the driveway on the Fourth of July, and running ahead of Chris and Eddie to flag down the ice cream truck at the end of the road. He thinks about the water park two towns over and the grin on Christopher's face when the big bucket tips over and dumps gallons of water onto the lazy river below. He thinks about the s'mores made by the backyard fire pit, the water guns waiting on the shelf in the garage. The summer reading list from school and live music and cotton candy at the county fair. The thought of missing out on it all– of watching it all pass by without Christopher here– it makes Buck's stomach turn.

Eddie’s silent, hesitating.

“Eddie,” Buck insists. “What did he say?” In his ten years of knowing Eddie, Buck has known Eddie’s parents for nearly five of them. To say it’s been a long warming-up period would be an understatement. Eddie’s always tried to shield Buck from his parent’s comments and judgements– no matter how many times Buck has insisted he doesn’t need to. By now, Buck knows this look from Eddie. His parents have said something about Buck, and Eddie doesn’t want to tell him. 

“He thinks he’s missing out,” Eddie says finally. “That we shelter him too much, that he’s not getting a ‘real American childhood’ with us,” he says, making air quotes around his father’s ridiculous expression. 

Buck’s blood feels heavy and hot as it moves through his body. It somehow feels like everything’s slowed down and sped up at the same time. 

“I hope you told him to go to hell,” Buck says. Eddie doesn’t miss the way his eyes have narrowed, how his body has tensed up. 

“Many times.” 

“And?”

“He’s insisting. He said that my mom and Shannon agree, and that they think it’ll be good for him.” Eddie takes another deep breath, trying to keep his voice even. “I want to know what the hell they’re doing talking to Shannon about what’s best for Christopher without us.” 

Buck’s chest flutters. _Us._ Eddie just as easily could’ve said “without me,” but the inclusion of Buck in the part of the sentence referencing the other half of Christopher’s co-parents has his heart soaring. He doesn't think he’ll ever get sick of it. 

Eddie takes another shaky breath, eyes shining. “What if Shannon changes her mind and tries for custody?”

Buck wraps his arms around Eddie, pulling him close against his chest. He’s not going to lie to Eddie and tell him he hasn’t feared the same thing– hell, sometimes the thought of it keeps him up at night. So instead, he holds him tight, rubbing circles into his back. “It’s okay,” he murmurs into Eddie’s hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s all talk. What do you want to do?” he asks. 

Eddie knows what he wants to do, but he’s actively trying not to choose violence. So, rational thought it is. He sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, Chris is fifteen now. I think he’s old enough to make the choice himself. As much as it’ll kill me, if he wants to go then he should go. I think he deserves a choice. I say we do whatever he wants.” 

“I–”

Buck’s reply is interrupted by the sound of Eddie’s phone ringing from the grass. Eddie groans. “If that’s him, I swear on everything–”  
“Let it ring through,” Buck says simply. “Send him to voicemail. We’ll deal with it later.” 

They stand there for a few minutes until the sound of the sliding door opening interrupts the comfortable silence.  
“Hey, buddy,” Eddie says, breaking into a grin at the sight of Christopher as he steps outside. “How was school?”

He just shrugs in response. Eddie hasn’t quite gotten used to having a teenager– he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the days when Christopher was so eager to chat about anything and everything that there were times he wouldn’t let Eddie get a word in edgewise. 

“Oh, it was great, Dad! Thanks for asking,” Buck says out of the side of his mouth, ruffling Christopher’s hair as he teases him. “How was your day, Dad? And you, Buck?” 

Christopher cracks a smile at that, grinning up at Buck. “It was good,” he offers. 

“Question for you,” Eddie says, subconsciously stepping next Buck, moving close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off his husband. “You’re going to stay with Mom in August again,” he reminds Chris. “Would you want to go to El Paso in July and spend a few weeks with your grandparents first?” 

“Like all of us?” Chris asks. 

Eddie shakes his head. “Just you. Buck and I would be here. You’d stay with Grandma and Grandpa.”

Christopher’s face scrunches up. If Buck didn’t know any better, he’d call it disgust. “No thanks,” he says simply. “I want to stay here with you guys.” 

Eddie and Buck share a look. Buck can’t help but notice the way Eddie seems to relax almost instantly, relief coming off him in waves.  
“Okay, bud,” Buck says. “We were just wondering.” 

“Can I play MarioKart with Chim now?” Chris asks, looking at the house, where Chimney's no doubt waiting for him. 

“Only if you promise to wipe the floor with him,” Buck says. “Show him who’s boss.” 

Chis grins, nodding. “I promise.” 

Later that night, once Christopher’s in his room and safely out of earshot, Eddie slips out onto the deck with two beers, passing one to Buck as he drops a kiss to his cheek. 

“You doing okay, baby?” Buck asks as Eddie drops into the chair beside him, staring out at the sun setting between the mountains.

Eddie nods, though he’s not sure it’s entirely true. He feels immensely better after talking to Chris earlier, but there’s still an unopened voicemail from his dad waiting on his phone that’s got him on edge. He figures it’s now or never, and besides, he’d rather hear it with Buck here with him. He pulls his phone out and turns up the volume, pressing play. 

“I know you’re upset,” it’s Ramon’s voice. Buck all but holds his breath, hanging on to each word as it comes through the phone speaker. “But you need to think about Christopher. The fact is, you can’t give him everything he needs. Not with your lifestyle, mijo. I hope you come around to this idea so that we can keep the lawyers out of it. Give me a call.” 

Eddie’s stunned. He didn’t actually expect them to stoop this low. _Lawyers_? Seriously? 

Buck grabs the phone from Eddie’s hand and hits redial without so much as a second’s hesitation. 

“Ramon,” Buck says by way of greeting. 

“Evan,” Eddie’s father half-says, half-asks. Buck rolls his eyes. Ramon still refuses to call him Buck, even after all this time, having told Eddie that “no respectable man still uses his childhood nickname.” Which is also why he’ll only call his son Edmundo, no matter how many times he’s asked him not to. “This is a surprise.”

“Is it, though?” Buck asks. “You’re threatening my husband and you didn’t think I’d want to throw my two cents in?” 

Eddie can practically feel the tension thicken as Ramon falls silent on the other end of the line. 

“Eddie’s here, too,” Buck says after a moment. “So let’s talk about this.” 

“Edmundo,” Ramon begins. 

“We talked to Chris,” Eddie cuts him off. “He wants to stay in New York until August.”

“Because he doesn't know anything else. Your world has been his life for so long that he doesn’t realize what he’s missing out on.” 

“He’s not exactly missing out on anything in ‘our world,’ Ramon,” Buck says simply. Eddie sits up a little straighter. Buck is not fucking around tonight, that’s for sure. 

“Of course he is! He’s got security with him everywhere he goes. What kind of a childhood is that?” 

"The kind where he's safe!" Buck exclaims. "Where he's looked after and cared for. The kind where we stop at nothing to protect him because we love him more than anything else in this world."

“You do realize the security comes with him to Texas, right?” Eddie adds. He has to keep talking or else he'll start thinking about what Buck just said. And if he does that, then he'll probably start crying, and that will get them nowhere. “That doesn’t stop just because he crosses state lines.” 

“Be that as it may, he needs to adjust to the real world.” 

“He’s perfectly adjusted,” Buck says. “He’s making straight As in school, he has a ton of friends, and he’s a great kid. The best, actually.” 

Eddie blinks. He’s trying to gather his thoughts, but the overwhelming love and gratitude he’s feeling for Buck in this moment is clouding his mind.

“And not that it even needs to be said, but Eddie’s an _incredible_ father. I mean, I think Christopher’s insistence on staying here with him as long as he can is pretty indicative of that.” 

“This life just isn’t what we expected from you, Edmundo,” Ramon says with a sigh. Eddie can picture him shaking his head as he says it. 

“Well, the version of Eddie that you created in your mind is none of his responsibility,” Buck snaps. Eddie’s head whips around to face Buck so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash. 

“This is a family matter, Evan,” Ramon says. 

“He is family,” Eddie all but yells. Then he mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like _more than you’ve ever been._

“Of course he is, sweetheart,” Helena chimes in. Eddie and Buck share a look. They hadn’t realized she was there, too. “That’s not what your dad meant. Right, Ramon?” 

“Save it,” Eddie interjects. 

“Listen,” Buck says, placing a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezing reassuringly. “If you two want to come up for a few days in July, say the word and we’ll fly you up. You’re always welcome to come see Chris. But that all goes away if you ever threaten our family like this again.” 

Eddie's heart pounds against his ribs. _Our family._ It's a good thing he's sitting down, or else he thinks he might melt into the ground. But then Ramon says something in Spanish, pulling Eddie from his thoughts of how much he fucking adores his husband and instead causes him to roll his eyes. 

“Yes, Dad, we know you can afford the flight. It wasn’t meant to–” he pauses as Ramon says something else, still in Spanish. 

Buck appreciates Eddie responding in English more than he could ever say. It’s hard enough feeling like such an outsider with Eddie’s family to begin with. But not knowing what’s being said (especially when he knows the conversation is about him) is a whole other ballgame. Eddie’s always made a point to translate and answer in English so Buck never feels left out, and today’s no exception. 

“Well if you want to be the one to buy it, by all means.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, Dad,” he says. “Yeah. Okay. You too, Mom.” And then the call ends, Ramon having hung up. 

Buck looks at Eddie expectantly. 

“He agreed,” Eddie says. He almost can’t believe it. 

Buck’s smile reaches his eyes. Relief washes over him, Eddie's words bringing with them an instant rush of dopamine. “Thank God,” he says. 

“No,” Eddie replies, reaching between them and lacing their fingers together. He brings their joined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to Buck’s knuckles. “Thank _you_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading and for your lovely comments. they truly make my day and motivate me to keep going with this verse more than you know :D


	7. the one with a crayon stick figure family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [BunnyCreekStyleDipTydeGregstophe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyCreekStyleDipTydeGregstophe/pseuds/BunnyCreekStyleDipTydeGregstophe) asked for a look into how Buck might cope with anxiety/ people who don’t support him. thank you for the prompt! :D
> 
> set a little over a year into buck’s presidency. established buddie but the public is still in the dark :) 
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 2338

“Eddie, Eddie, Hen.”

His brow furrows at the sound of Hen’s voice coming through his earpiece. It’s 7:30 on a Thursday morning, and with Buck still sound asleep behind the doors to the residence, he’s not sure what she’s radioing over about. 

He brings his wrist to his mouth. “Go for Eddie.”

“Maddie incoming,” she says. “Heads up.” 

“Thanks, Hen,” he replies, immediately turning and pounding on the door to the residence behind him. Bobby laughs from where he’s standing a few feet away. 

“No chance,” he says. 

Eddie knows he’s right. There’s no way Buck will hear him knocking and wake up in time to get himself dressed before Maddie arrives to start banging on the door herself. Usually, Maddie appears a little later, once word reaches her office that Buck has yet to make an appearance in the West Wing.

Sure enough, there’s no signs of life from behind the other side of the door by the time Eddie sees Maddie round the corner. 

“Morning, gentlemen!” she says with a smile. She’s balancing three coffees in a cardboard carrier in her left hand, her own cup in her right. She holds the tray out to Eddie and Bobby, who each take a cup, thanking her. “I’m going to kill him,” she mutters, looking up at the closed door. 

“Evan, let’s go!” she shouts. Bobby takes the tray from her long enough to let her pound on the door for good measure. 

When there’s still no response, she heaves a sigh. “Give him five more minutes and then drag him out if you have to,” she says to Eddie. Then, she turns to Bobby and nods at the tray in his hand with the single coffee cup remaining. “That’s for him, but only  _ if he gets his ass in gear _ ,” she says, raising her voice at the end of her sentence in hopes Buck might hear her. 

“Roger that, ma’am,” Bobby says. 

Maddie scrunches up her nose. “Ew, what did I say about that?”

“Roger that,  _ Maddie _ ,” he tries again. It still feels weird, calling Buck and Maddie by their names and not  _ sir _ or  _ ma’am _ . Buck’s is the first administration both Bobby and Eddie have ever worked for that’s been so informal and so friendly with the staff and agents. It’s taken some conscious unlearning. For Eddie, at least, it got a lot easier once he became acquainted with Buck’s penis. But that’s neither here nor there. 

Five minutes pass, still with no sign of Buck. Eddie’s ID doubles as a master key, which is especially convenient for moments like these. Back on the campaign, he’d have to track down keys, jimmy locks, and, at times, physically break into hotel rooms. This has proved far easier, although the first time he had to key into the residence rather than force the door open with a credit card and some shoulder strength, Buck was quick to note it wasn’t “nearly as hot.” Eddie was quick to remind Buck that the master key was his idea, after all. 

“Well, there are times when I want you to be able to get in here as quickly as possible,” Buck had said suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. “Sue me.”

He keys in, walking into the entryway. “Buck!” he calls out. “Let’s go.” 

There’s no answer. Eddie makes his way down the hall and stops outside the door to Buck’s bedroom. He knocks on the door gently. “Buck,” he says again. “Time to go. Come on.”

“Go away, Eddie.” Buck’s voice isn’t thick with sleep as Eddie had anticipated. He wonders if Buck’s been up this whole time.  "I'll be out in a little bit."  Eddie’s had to come in here many times to get Buck moving in the morning and each time he’s met with either a sleepy voice, a wisecrack, an attempt to get Eddie in bed with him, or or some combination of the three. Never once has Buck told him to go away. Something’s not right. 

“What’s up?” Eddie asks gently. “Everything okay?”

Buck’s pause is too long to make his “Yeah, I’m fine,” believable. 

The truth is, he’s not fine. He’s riddled with anxiety, the pit in his stomach having established itself late last night as he scrolled Twitter before bed. He knew it was dumb, searching his name. It was dumb when he was a Senator, and even dumber when running for President. He knows not to do it, knows how much it fucks with his head, how it brings him nothing but anxiety each time. And yet he did it anyway, his chest constricting and his mind racing as he found tweets from non-supporters. He tossed and turned all night, his waves of self-doubt and fears of disappointing the American people keeping him up. 

He was finally able to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning, only for his anxiety to wake him up after a few hours, his heart racing and his hands shaking. He’d been up since, searching social media sites and checking polls and approval ratings. Despite his ratings being higher than any President’s in recent history and the outpouring of love and support on social media, none of it did much to quell the anxiety gnawing at him. The tweets he had seen the night before – critical at best and hateful at worst– were still living rent free in his mind, casting self-doubt. It feels like his insides are burning, his mind clouded.

And now Eddie’s here, and the last thing Buck wants is to put any of this burden on him. So he tells him to leave, in hopes he listens and gives Buck space long enough to shake this anxious state. But then Eddie opens the door and steps into the room, and Buck realizes he should've known better. 

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks. Buck is sitting on the edge of the bed, still in a pair of basketball shorts and his beloved Yale sweatshirt. He looks up from his phone to stare at Eddie. 

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Buck.” 

“Eddie.” 

Eddie sucks a deep breath in, closing his eyes and counting to five in his mind, much like he does when Christopher behaves like this. The only difference here being that Christopher is five years old and Buck is the President of the United States. 

“You can go,” Buck says, his voice cold. He looks back down at his phone.

Eddie shakes his head. He’s not going anywhere until he figures out what’s got Buck acting like this. “Cut the shit.” 

“Pretty sure you can’t talk to me like that,” Buck points out. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure I’m not supposed to fuck you on my days off, but you let that one fly.” 

“Well unless you’re here to do that, you can head out, Special Agent Diaz.” 

Buck only calls him that when he’s pissed off or turned on, and right now, between Buck’s attitude and the way he’s glaring at Eddie, it appears to be the former. Eddie knows this behavior all too well – partially because he’s had Buck on the receiving end of it before – Buck’s trying to build up a wall, trying to keep Eddie out. 

Eddie sits down on the edge of the mattress beside Buck. “Something’s up,” he says, his voice gentle. “You’re not yourself. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Eddie, don’t,” Buck says. His resolve is already fading, the cold edge to his voice gone. 

“Let me in,” Eddie says quietly. “Let me help.” 

Buck’s not sure if it’s the warmth in Eddie’s eyes, the soft, pleading tone of his voice, or the way Eddie just sitting beside him is immediately grounding, the cloud over him dissipating in seconds once Eddie’s thigh presses up against his own. Whatever it is, it forces the wall Buck’s stuck up between them to the ground almost instantly. “They hate me,” he says, his voice quiet. 

“What?” Eddie asks. “Who does?”

“America,” Buck answers. He passes Eddie his phone, open to Twitter. Eddie looks at the screen and realizes Buck has searched his name, which even Eddie, as technologically-illiterate as he may be, knows is never a good idea. 

He scrolls through the search results. In the first ten tweets that show up, six are thirsting over him, three more speak positively about his policies and work in office so far, and one says _one retweet = one prayer buckley doesn't run for a second term._ There are 16,000 retweets. 

He keeps scrolling to see more of the same: one or two critical tweets in a sea of ten or fifteen glowing ones. 

“They love you,” Eddie says, locking the screen and tossing the phone onto the mattress out of Buck’s reach. 

“They want me gone,” Buck says, dropping his head to his hands to hide his face, a dead giveaway that he’s on the verge of tears. “I’m a fuck up. I’ve only been here a year and already they hate me.” 

Eddie nudges Buck’s hands away, tipping his face up. He takes Buck’s face in his hands, their eyes meeting. “Listen to me,” he says, voice insistent, unwavering. “You are doing incredible things. You can’t let a handful of assholes on the internet with half a set of critical thinking skills between them convince you otherwise.” 

“But–”

“I scrolled for just a few seconds and saw  _ dozens _ of glowing tweets,” Eddie says. “I bet if we kept looking we’d find hundreds more. Probably thousands. You’re going to focus on the one or two snarky ones?”

Buck shrugs. Eddie does have a point. But at the same time, he can’t shut off the nagging part of him that’s eager to please people, can’t shake the burning desire within him to earn others’ approval.

“If people  _ really _ didn’t like you, your legislation would be blocked. No one would want to work for you. Other leaders would refuse to meet with you and people would be protesting outside the White House. None of which is happening.” 

Buck would be lying if he said his anxiety didn’t ease up a little bit with Eddie’s words. His breath is coming a little easier now, his heart rate slowing down the more Eddie speaks. 

“And as far as I know, there’s no song out there called Fuck Evan Buckley,” Eddie continues. “Which, admittedly, I never thought would be a marker of success, but here we are.”

Eddie runs his thumb over Buck’s cheek affectionately. “If all that isn’t enough to convince you, then fine. But for what it’s worth, I love you. And I think you’re doing a great job.” 

Buck’s eyes are wet as he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips. 

Three days later, Buck’s woken up to something dropping onto his chest. He opens his eyes, confused. Eddie’s standing over him, grinning.    
“Hi,” Eddie says.

Buck glances over at the clock on the nightstand. It’s almost nine o’clock, which means Eddie’s been here for an hour already, having snuck in while the agents were switching out, like he does most Sunday mornings. 

He gives Eddie a sleepy smile. “Hey, you. What’s this?” he asks, glancing down at the box on his chest. He takes it in his hands, sitting up and crossing his legs beneath him. 

Eddie climbs onto the bed, sitting in front of him. He leans in, dropping a kiss to Buck’s cheek. “Open it and see.” 

Buck grins. He pulls the lid off, revealing a large black scrapbook. He looks up at Eddie, confused. 

“Just open it,” Eddie insists. 

Buck does, his breath catching in his throat as he flips through the pages. They’re filled with screenshots of tweets, Instagram and Facebook posts, pictures of street art and yard signs and people wearing t-shirts and hats with his name and picture on them. There are stickers and glitter on each page, hand-drawn hearts and stars and smiley faces. 

“Chris helped,” Eddie explains, waiting for Buck to say something. 

For what’s probably the first time in his life, Buck is completely speechless. He runs his fingers over one of the pages, tracing over a big heart drawn in blue crayon. It’s right next to a screenshot of a tweet that reads r _ound of applause for president buckley for single handedly saving our country_ with 194,000 retweets and 452,000 likes. 

Below it, there’s another tweet. It’s a picture of Buck alongside the Canadian Prime Minister and the French President at a summit a few weeks back. It’s captioned _the holy trinity_ with a long string of emojis. 

On the next page, there’s a candid shot of Buck stepping out of the motorcade. He’s got a pair of sunglasses on, grinning as he buttons his suit jacket with his right hand and waves at onlookers with his left. _It’s the BDE for me_ reads the caption. 

There are 300,000 retweets and half a million likes.

Then he sees Eddie’s handwriting beneath it, small, neat capital letters written in Sharpie.  **ME TOO.**

The page is sprinkled with hand drawn hearts and smiley faces, all in blue and red crayon. Buck smiles as he runs his fingers over each one. He looks up at Eddie.  “You did this for me,” he means for it to be a question, but it comes out more of a statement, his voice breaking on the last word. 

Eddie nods. “Just in case you forget again,” he says. He presses a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips. 

Buck murmurs “I love you,” smiling against Eddie’s lips. 

“There’s more,” Eddie says, tapping the book. Buck turns to the last page. 

There’s a crayon drawing of three stick figures, two big and one small, all holding hands. They’re labeled in Christopher’s kindergarten handwriting, half of the letters backwards.  _ Christopher. Daddy. Bucky.  _ Buck’s heart thumps against his ribs, his chest squeezing. 

And then he sees Eddie’s handwriting at the bottom of the page.  **AMERICA LOVES YOU AND SO DO WE.**


	8. the one where maddie finds out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for [stlesismylover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stlesismylover) who wanted to know how the others found out about them! 
> 
> i decided to focus on how maddie found out and, in the process, try my hand at writing some madney. there's still a little flash of buddie in here, but it's more madney-centric, so i hope that’s cool with you all! if you like it, let me know and i’ll try to weave some more madney moments into the rest of this verse. if not, that's cool too! let me know what you think either way :)
> 
> AND a quick refresher since it’s been a year since i wrote it (literally HOW)... maddie found out from buck in [chapter four of you made me feel it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403969?view_full_work=true) but she totally knew beforehand. so this is what went down! 
> 
> (set a few months into buck’s presidency)
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 1891

“Hey.” The door to the control room closes gently, locking automatically.

Chimney grins, looking over his shoulder to see Maddie standing behind him. “Hey yourself,” he says. He spins in his office chair, facing her properly. 

When Chim, Hen, Eddie, and Bobby joined them on the campaign trail a year ago, Maddie hadn’t thought much of it. She was too busy organizing events, planning rallies, liaising with staffers and strategists, keeping tabs on Buck, and making sure Buck and Eddie didn’t kill each other. 

And then, about two weeks in, she was in her own room in the hotel on one of their stops somewhere out west when she heard a door slam across the hallway. It was followed by Buck’s voice, then Eddie’s. She heaved a sigh as she stood up and made her way into the hallway. 

When she had stepped out, she nearly crashed into Chimney, who was on his way to investigate. Upon realizing it was just Buck and Eddie having it out over Buck’s latest antics, Maddie rolled her eyes. 

“You guys must get paid a lot,” she mused, glancing over at Chim. “Either that or Eddie is a masochist.” 

He laughed. “Well, we’re government employees, so definitely the latter.” 

Another door slams from inside Buck’s suite. “Either Buck’s opening doors just to slam them again or it’s the Monster’s Inc. door warehouse in there,” Maddie had said. 

“Should I radio in a 2319?” he quipped, raising an eyebrow. He held up his wrist to show Maddie the small microphone, its wire disappearing up his suit sleeve. 

From that moment on, they were practically inseparable. They’re just friends. At least, that’s what she tells Buck when he catches the two of them goofing off near the elevators one morning and asks her, “Do you have a thing for Chimney?” once they get in the car. 

She and Chim sat together on the campaign bus most days, and when they didn’t they were chatting across the bus with each other from their separate seats. They went out to karaoke bars and food trucks in random cities on the campaign trail. On nights when Chimney was working, Maddie would stay up late and sit against the wall opposite him, the two of them eating vending machine snacks and arguing about early 2000s boy bands, the merits of the east vs. west coasts, and who Katniss should’ve ended up with. 

They’re just friends. According to Chimney, anyway, when Hen catches him grinning down at his phone and spots Maddie’s name at the top of the text conversation. 

And then when Buck was elected and then inaugurated, he moved into the White House and Maddie and Chimney stopped spending as much time together. Not for lack of trying, moreso the increased demands of both of their jobs under the new administration. 

But Chimney still finds time to stop by Maddie’s office before and after shift change. He gets junior agents to switch posts with him so he can be closer to her office, always making a point to volunteer to drive whichever car he knows she’ll be in when they head off-site. 

And Maddie makes sure to go the long way each morning, just so she can go through the east entrance to the residence on her way to Buck, always after 7:30 when she knows Chimney starts his post. 

They’re just friends. 

He leans back in his seat, smiling up at her. He had texted her earlier asking her to swing by the West Wing control room on her way out at the end of the day. It’s almost ten o’clock, and he’s the only one left in the control room, the other two other agents having left for the night. “I have a surprise for you.” 

“For me?” Maddie looks confused. 

Chim nods, pulling a bottle of tequila out from beside the desk. There’s a red bow tied around the neck of the bottle. “Happy early birthday,” he says. Then, more seriously, “It’s time.” 

Maddie bursts out laughing. “You remembered?” she asks incredulously. 

He nods. The first time they went out together, they had done so many tequila shots they were hungover for days. Maddie had swore up and down that she wasn’t touching tequila until her 40th birthday, at the very earliest. It was almost two years ago, and Chim had seriously remembered after all this time. 

She feels warm all over, smiling as she drops her bag to the floor and says, “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s crack it open.”

“You sure?” he asks. “Your birthday’s not for another week. We could wait.”

“Hell yes I’m sure!” she says, dropping into the empty chair at the desk beside Chimney’s. She scoots her feet on the floor, wheeling herself closer to him. “It’s 9:57 on a Friday night. I’m either drinking here with you or alone in my apartment. You’re far better company than the dust bunnies under my couch.” 

He pulls the cap off the bottle, passing it to her. “I’ll drink to that.” He knows he technically shouldn’t drink at work, but his shift ends in three minutes anyway. Besides, after ten o’clock, they only use the control room in the East Wing to monitor CCTV footage, so no one’s going to come in here and bust him. 

She grins, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a long pull. Her face twists up as she swallows the liquor, a warm rush moving through her veins as it hits her stomach. She passes the bottle to Chimney, who takes a sip. 

The alcohol in her veins gives her just the push she needs to lean in, closing the distance between them as she places a hand on Chimney’s cheek and plants a kiss on his lips. 

He freezes for just a second, just long enough for Maddie to wonder if she made a huge mistake. But then he’s kissing her back, eager and insistent, one hand coming up to the back of her head, the other resting on her thigh. 

She grins, breaking contact long enough to murmur, “I’ve been waiting so long to do that,” in the space between their lips. 

“Me too,” he breathes. 

It’s then that Maddie catches the CCTV footage on the screen behind Chim’s head. There must be something in the water, because Buck and Eddie seem to have the same idea as they do. 

She watches, eyes wide, as Buck takes Eddie’s face in his hands, their lips meeting as Eddie’s hands grip Buck’s hips. They walk backwards, lips locked and hands roaming, until they’re out of frame. 

“Holy shit,” Maddie whispers, hand flying up to cover her mouth. 

Chimney freezes, thinking she must be seriously regretting what just happened. His heart sinks, his chest suddenly feeling heavy. “I’m sorry, Mads. Fuck, I… I didn’t–”

“What? No!” she insists, realizing where Chim’s head went. “No, not you. This is great. This is perfect. I just… can you rewind that?” she points at the screen. “But don’t look.” 

Chim gives her a quizzical look, but does as she asks, turning away as he hits play for her. 

“Oh my god,” she murmurs. There’s Eddie, stepping into the Oval and closing the door behind him. And then Buck, rising from the desk and saying something that earns him a smirk from Eddie. Then Eddie’s crossing the room, resting his hands on the desk and leaning in, whispering something in the space between their lips. 

Buck blinks twice, grinning. And then he’s stepping around the desk, his fingers locking around Eddie’s tie as he yanks him close, their lips meeting. Eddie’s hands find Buck’s hips as they stumble backwards. 

She’s torn between wanting to show Chimney so she has someone to commiserate with and wanting to give Buck his privacy to do whatever– and, apparently, whoever– he wants.

“Are they going at it again?” Chimney asks, completely unphased. Maddie’s mouth flies open for the second time in as many minutes. 

She smacks his shoulder with the back of his hand. “You knew?!” she demands. 

His eyes fly open. “You didn’t?!”

“No!” she exclaims. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” 

“I thought you knew!” he insists. 

“How long?” 

He shrugs. “Few days at least. They’re idiots and haven’t quite figured out the blind spots on the cameras. Well, actually, it’s more like Eddie knows them but Buck can’t quite wait to get there.” 

“That tracks,” Maddie admits. 

“Who else knows?” she asks. 

“Just me. As far as I know, anyway. I saw them on the cameras the other day, but Eddie’s been off since.” 

Maddie nods, running scenarios in her mind. Chim continues, “But even if any of the other agents know, we’re bound by such strict NDAs, no one would even think about mentioning it.” 

Maddie groans, tipping her head back. “I’m gonna kill him,” she mutters. “I mean, this is great. Don’t get me wrong. You could have cut the sexual tension there with a rusty knife. Not to mention they’re totally obsessed with each other. But if the press finds out, this will end both of them.” 

“Eddie hand picked this team,” Chim reminds her. “You really think he’d let anyone near Buck he didn’t trust with his life?” 

He’s right. If Eddie ever caught even the slightest wind that one of his agents was anything less than completely trustworthy, they’d be gone in the blink of an eye. 

“You’re right,” she says. Her mind feels like it’s in overdrive, but then Chim takes her hand in his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. She immediately feels the stress and anxiety start to leave her body, ebbing away each second that passes with her hand in his. 

She stares at the monitor, Buck and Eddie long since out of frame. All that’s visible is a seemingly empty Oval Office, with its one desk, two couches and the seal on the floor. If Buck can be so fearless in the pursuit of the one who sets his heart on fire, why can’t she? 

She tears her eyes away from the monitor and looks back at Chim. “I think I love you,” she says simply. 

He breaks into a grin, his smile reaching his eyes. “I think I love you too,” he replies. 

“Well then,” she says, picking up the bottle from the desk beside them. “I’ll drink to that.”


	9. the one where christopher gets detention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little (seriously, emphasis on little- this is a shortie!!) look into christopher's teenage years for all of you who asked!  
> (and a very happy thanksgiving to those who celebrate <3)
> 
> set almost two years after buck's presidency ends
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 1581

Eddie’s phone buzzes just before three o’clock. He sees Chimney’s name on the screen, his heart ticking up a little bit with anticipation. He scoops his phone up off the table beside him right away, checking the text immediately.

It’s in a group chat with Buck. **We’re going to be home a little late. Have you guys talked to Chris?**

Before Eddie can call up to him, he hears Buck’s feet on the stairs, jogging down from his office and practically skidding into the kitchen. “Did you see Chim’s text?” he asks. 

Eddie nods, holding up the phone still in his hand. “Have you heard from Chris today?”

Buck shakes his head. “Not since he left this morning. You?”

“Nope,” Eddie says, trying not to worry. Obviously Christopher is safe, or else Chimney wouldn’t be texting so casually. But he certainly could’ve gotten himself into trouble of some sort. He’s a fifteen year old boy, after all. It’s pretty much in his DNA. 

But Buck’s already beat him to the point of worrying, starting to pace as he texts back, each thought in its own message. 

**No  
** **We’re together  
** **Neither one of us has  
** **Is everything okay?**

It’s a long thirty seconds before Chimney’s response comes in. 

**Yeah. Totally fine. He’s safe.**

Then, in a second message: **He has detention. Well, I guess technically we both do because I’m here, too. Having horrible high school flashbacks.**

Buck’s eyebrows shoot up so quickly that Eddie thinks they might fly clean off his face.

“He has _what_?” Eddie says out loud. 

Buck looks equally as scandalized. “What do you think he did?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, thinking out loud. “Nothing too bad if they didn’t call one of us. But also bad enough to get detention and not just a warning.” He has half a mind to pull out the school handbook and look up all detention-earning offenses to try to get a feel for what they could be dealing with. But he knows it’ll only send both of their anxieties sky-high. And if Buck paces any more than he is now, he might wear through the kitchen floor boards. 

Buck wants to call the school, but he knows that they shouldn't. They don't want to be _those_ parents, after all. Plus, Chris is fifteen. He's only got another year of Secret Service protection, which means it's his last year with Chim at school with him. He needs to be as independent as possible this time next year when he's on his own. And Buck –as much as everything in him wants to know what's going on right away– knows that waiting to hear firsthand from Christopher is what's in their son's best interests in the long run. 

But damn, does he long for instant gratification. 

“Using your phone during class?” Buck asks with a sigh as they walk inside. He had been in the driveway when Chim and Chris pulled up, after his pacing escalated and he was instructed to _get some fresh air before the floor swallows you whole._ He had been standing outside the garage with his arms crossed as Christopher got out of the car. “And even after you got a warning? Come on, Chris. You know better.”

“Everyone does it.” 

Buck can’t believe it, but he finds himself using Maddie’s favorite line from when she would him doing dumb things as a teenager some thirty years ago. “What if everyone jumped off a bridge? Would you do that, too?”

“No,” Christopher says, rolling his eyes as he closes the door to the garage and steps into the kitchen behind Buck. “But bridges and phones are very different things, Bucky.”

“I know I don’t see you rolling your eyes,” Eddie chimes in, looking up from where he’s sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop. Despite the frustration coming off him in waves so strong that Buck can practically see it, Eddie nearly melts at Christopher's use of _Bucky_. As he's gotten older, Daddy has become Dad and Mommy has become Mom. But Bucky has always been Bucky. No matter how old and cool he gets, he shows no signs of ever dropping the y at the end, no intentions of ever forgoing his special name for his bonus dad. And Eddie loves it. Almost as much as Buck does. 

Almost. 

Chris mumbles an apology and moves to head past them to his bedroom.

“I don’t think so,” Eddie says. Christopher stops in his tracks, turning to face his dad. 

“What, Dad?” Frustration drips from his voice, his attitude still surprising to Eddie even after almost a year of it. 

Eddie has to remind himself to stay present, instead of focusing on the pang of sadness and longing for easier days when Chris was younger and hadn’t yet developed all the _wonderful_ teenage tendencies. “I want to talk about this," Eddie says. "You were wrong today. What were you thinking?” 

He shrugs. 

“Do you realize how disrespectful that is to your teachers?” Buck asks gently. “You know better.”

“We certainly raised you better than that,” Eddie adds. 

“Whatever,” Christopher says. 

“No, not whatever,” Buck insists. He wants to heave a giant sigh, wants to roll his own eyes, wants to pull at his hair. Nothing in the word could've prepared him for parenting a teenager. Having the nuclear codes was less stressful at times. 

Eddie’s had enough of the attitude. He holds his hand out expectantly. “Give us your phone.” 

“What?” Chris protests. “For how long?” 

“Until you can prove that you can use it appropriately.”

Christopher pauses for a second, almost as if he’s sizing them up and deciding if they’re actually serious. When neither of them budge, he takes it out of his pocket and hands it to Eddie. He doesn’t wait for them to say anything before heading down the hallway to his bedroom. 

“You guys are so lame!” he yells once he gets there, slamming his door for good measure. 

Buck and Eddie share a look, mutual frustration clear on their faces. “We’re building a boat,” Eddie says, once the sound of Christopher’s door slamming is done reverberating down the hallway. 

Buck is totally lost and Eddie’s only said four words. He turns away from where he was staring at Christoper’s now-closed door to look at his husband. “We’re what?” 

“Building a boat,” Eddie repeats, as if that’s supposed to bring any clarity. “Or a plane. A car. A train. Either way, we’re building it for him. So that he can go out into the world and leave us one day. But we have to build it right, and put as much love and care into it as we can.” 

“Why?” Buck asks. 

“So that one day,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around Buck’s middle. He presses a kiss to Buck’s cheek before resting his head on his shoulder. “When he’s ready, and only if the boat is strong enough, he can come back to us.”

Buck closes his eyes, letting out a long, slow exhale as Eddie’s words sink in. He tilts his head to the side, resting his temple against Eddie’s. He brings his hands up to hold onto Eddie’s, his voice soft as it breaks through the silence. “So we’re building a boat.” 

“We’re building a boat,” Eddie confirms, voice low in Buck’s ear. Buck takes another deep breath, trying his best to let all the remaining teenager-related frustration go. He thinks about how hard parenting can be sometimes– how he can love this little person so fully and so entirely, and how that same tiny person can manage to push all his buttons at the same time. Every single decision he and Eddie make is for Christopher, with his best interests in mind. And each time they’re met with attitude and eye rolling feels like a blow to the gut. 

But Eddie’s right. They’re building a boat. Tough as it may be sometimes, they’re going to have to discipline him and maintain boundaries so that Chris can grow from an incredible child to an incredible young man. Buck just wishes it wasn’t so frustrating sometimes, is all. 

He opens his eyes, twisting in Eddie’s arms so he can face him. “Building a boat. That’s actually pretty good, baby.”

“I saw it on Grey’s Anatomy,” Eddie admits. Buck laughs out loud at that. 

“For all the shit you give me about loving that show,” Buck says. “Look who’s getting his parenting advice from television’s longest-running medical drama.”

Eddie smirks. “Get out of here.” 

“It _is_ a good analogy.” 

“I know it is, or else I wouldn’t have used it.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “Okay, hot shot.” He nods at Christopher’s phone sitting on the kitchen table. “So what’s our plan here?”

“Oh, he’s _so_ grounded,” Eddie says without hesitation. "But we'll deal with that once he's cooled down a little."

He crosses the room to the fridge, pulling two beers out. He pops the caps off before passing one to Buck. "To the boat," he says, holding out his own bottle. 

Buck grins, clinking the neck of his bottle against Eddie's. "And being _so lame_."

Eddie nods, lips curling into a smile around the lip of his bottle as he takes a drink. "Well," he says, placing a hand on Buck's hip and pulling him close. "I wouldn't want to be _so lame_ with anyone else. I'm glad we're doing this together." 

Buck drops a kiss to Eddie's lips. "Me, too."


	10. the one with career day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for [rebecca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BSunsetTowers/pseuds/221BSunsetTowers)  
> who came through with the awesome idea of career day at christopher's school. thank you for the great prompt!! :D
> 
> rating: g  
> word count: 1870

“Dad? Bucky?” Christopher’s voice floats down the hallway of Eddie’s apartment. 

It’s a Sunday afternoon in the middle of October, slow and lazy just as God intended. Buck snuck over to Eddie’s in the middle of the night, his presence at the kitchen counter this morning a welcome surprise for Christopher. The smile still hadn’t completely left his little face, even all these hours later. 

Christopher’s been in his room for a bit, building something with Legos that Eddie and Buck “can’t see yet, okay?” 

Eddie and Buck are on the couch together, at first sipping coffee and watching football. But that lasted all of twenty minutes before one of Buck’s random questions was met with silence, and he glanced over to see Eddie snoring softly. His chest is rising and falling rhythmically, his head in Buck’s lap as he strokes through his dark hair gently. 

Buck freezes, glancing down at Eddie. He doesn’t want to wake him, but he needs to answer Christopher. 

“Yeah, bud?” Buck calls back, only loud enough to reach Christopher, covering Eddie’s exposed ear with his hand. Sweet as it may be, it doesn’t work. Eddie stirs, his eyes blinking twice as he gets his bearings. “Sorry,” Buck murmurs.

Eddie hums contentedly, yawning once before sitting up. Christopher appears in the living room a moment later, holding a yellow paper in his hand. “This is from school,” he says, handing it over. Eddie takes it from him.“It’s Career Day,” Chris says. “Can you guys come?”   
Eddie freezes. There’s nothing he wants more, but there would be so many moving parts to pull it off. Not to mention the security risk that comes each time Buck leaves the White House. He can’t ask Buck to do that. 

While the public does know about Buck and Eddie’s relationship and everyone at Christopher’s school is well aware they’re essentially co-parenting at this point, it would be… tricky to say the least. They’d have to clear Buck’s morning, close down a few streets to get the motorcade through, arrange for agents at the school, in the classroom, and at various points along the way. They’d also need to search every other parent in the room and lock down the building. 

All of which  _ can _ be done, but Eddie’s well aware it’s a lot to ask of Buck. 

“I don’t know, buddy,” Eddie says truthfully. He’s still holding onto the paper, looking over the top of it into his son’s bright, hopeful eyes.

Eddie’s not sure if offering Shannon in their place will make things better or worse, so he just bites his tongue. It kills him seeing Chris disappointed, but he doesn’t want to promise something he isn’t positive he can deliver on. 

The hope fizzles out of Christopher’s eyes with Eddie’s words, his smile falling. “But all my friends’ dads are coming,” he says.

Buck looks over at Eddie, catches the apprehension in his eyes. Then he catches the slight quiver of Christopher’s bottom lip, the sadness taking over his normally bright features. 

Buck’s heart is actively breaking in his chest, he’s sure of it. He remembers Career Day when he was a kid, how he longed for his dad to come to school like so many other parents did. He’ll never forget the disappointment he felt looking around the room at all the other parents, his dad nowhere to be found. 

“Hey,” Buck says, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. “Why don’t you let me and your dad talk about it? You almost done with that super secret Lego creation?” 

Christopher’s face brightens back up a little bit at that. He nods, mentioning something about a big reveal before dinner time before heading back to his room. 

The second he’s out of earshot, Buck plucks the paper from Eddie’s hands, scanning it over. “Let’s go,” he says. 

Eddie hesitates. 

“We’re going,” Buck rephrases. “Eddie, we have to.”

“I want to,” Eddie insists. “Logistically, though–” 

“We’ll make it work,” Buck cuts him off. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it.” 

And when he just shrugs as Eddie reminds him, “There’s always some risk to going off site,” Eddie’s heart beats a little faster with anticipation. 

“Hardly,” Buck says. “You’ll be there running the show and beside me the whole time. Nothing about that feels risky to me.” 

“Buck—”

“I trust you.” Buck says simply, as if he’s letting Eddie know the sky is blue, the Pope is Catholic, and the sun came out this morning. The unspoken  _ obviously  _ warms Eddie’s heart and has his breath caught in his throat for a moment. 

“Okay,” Eddie nods, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re sure?” 

“Absolutely.” 

Eddie can’t help it. The light in Buck’s eyes has them practically sparkling, the excited grin on his face almost too much for Eddie to handle. He drops a kiss to the top of Buck’s nose, then another on his lips. “Alright.” 

Buck pumps his fist. “Yes!” He kisses Eddie properly, letting the flyer still in his hands flutter to the ground. “It’s gonna be awesome.”

“Okay, friends!” Christopher’s teacher announces. Buck is practically buzzing out of his skin, his pent-up nervous energy having nowhere else to go. As they stand against the wall, Eddie’s right pinky brushes against Buck’s left, instantly grounding. “Christopher’s dads are here to talk about their jobs as a Secret Service Agent and the President.” 

All eyes in the room turn to Buck and Eddie at the side of the room, where they’re leaning up against a bulletin board with the weekly spelling words. Eddie tries to calm his heart, beating faster at the teacher’s use of  _ Christopher’s dads  _ so nonchalantly. He likes the way it sounds far too much to correct her. 

Eddie’s up first, at Buck’s insistence (read: not-so-gentle nudge to the front of the room.) As he makes his way to the front of the room, he catches Christopher's eye. He's ecstatic, eyes bright and smile stretched across his face as he waits for his dad to have his turn in front of the group. Eddie feels warm all over, his chest squeezing as Christoper waves at him from his desk in the second row. He waves back and thinks that this is one of those days he'll remember for the rest of his life. 

He’s got the attention of every child and adult in the room as he talks about the duties he has as the President’s principal agent and the head of his detail. Nearly every hand in the room flies up when he asks if anyone has a question, adults included. “To answer what I’m going to guess is about half of you,” Eddie says, winking at Christopher. “Yes, I have a gun.”

More than half the hands in the room lower. Grinning, he points at one of the students to ask a question. 

After he finishes, he’s met with the loudest applause of all the parents so far. It seems to stun him a bit, a confused look creeping onto his face as he raises a hand by way of waving, thanking the kids and their parents as he returns to his spot by the spelling words. 

His hand brushes up against Buck’s as they step past each other, sparks flying at the point of contact just like they did the first time they touched so many years ago.

“Well, I don’t know how to follow that,” Buck begins, earning a laugh from the adults in the room. And yet, somehow, he does. The kids are hanging onto his every word, everyone captivated by him. Eddie can’t blame them. 

It’s nice, Eddie thinks. Seeing Buck like this, his eyes lit up as he talks, immediately comfortable in front of the room full of students and parents. He’s a natural with kids– always has been, from what Eddie’s seen, anyway– and today is no exception. 

Sure, he’s gotten to see Buck speak in front of crowds plenty of times before, but this is different. He’s not here as the President today. At this moment, he’s no different than Joey’s dad the postal worker or Savannah’s mom the financial advisor. He’s just a parent who loves his kid enough to take the morning off to come down and tell a class full of eleven-year-olds about what he does all day. 

These moments where they can exist outside of the White House are few and far between, and frankly, most days, nonexistent. And Eddie will be damned if he misses a single second of it. 

“What’s the best part of your job?” one student asks. 

Buck doesn’t hesitate. “The people,” he says. “My fellow Americans, just like all of you. I get to fight for them and with them to make this the best country it can be. Also, I have a movie theater in my house.” 

Nearly everyone in the room cracks a smile at that. 

“Do you have a gun, too?” the girl sitting in front of Christopher asks. 

He shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “But I don’t need one. I have the best Secret Service Agents in the world to keep me safe.” 

“Like Mr. Diaz?” she asks. 

Buck’s eyes find Eddie from across the room, warm and steady as he says, “Exactly.”

“Thank you,” Buck says later, as they walk down the hallway. There are a couple of agents a few steps ahead of them and a few more behind them, the sound of footsteps on linoleum echoing as they make their way to the side door.

Eddie raises an eyebrow.“For what?” 

“This. Today. Coming here.” 

Eddie smiles, glancing over his shoulder at Eddie as they step outside. “I’m glad we did.”

“Me too. It was really important to me.” 

“I know,” Eddie nods at one of the agents holding the car door open for them. He waits until they’re inside the car, the door closed, until he says “And I love you for it.” 

“You love me for a lot of things,” Buck teases. 

“This is true.”

“My dad never came to Career Day,” Buck says after a minute. “It’s a shitty feeling. I just… I didn’t want Chris to know what it’s like.” 

“And here I just thought you liked talking about yourself,” Eddie deadpans. 

Buck grins, shoving Eddie playfully. “That too, of course.” 

“Well,” Eddie says, “I can tell you with absolute certainty that this made his year.” 

“How could it not? His dad showed off his gun to his whole homeroom.” 

Eddie grins. “See, I thought you were the star of the show.”

“Not when you’re in the room, I’m not,” Buck says. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, his tone shifting to one more serious. “If this brought up bad memories of your dad.”

“Nah,” Buck shakes his head. “These new memories take the place of the bad ones. Now, when I think about Career Day, I’ll think of today. Which is something I wouldn’t mind reliving a hundred times over.” 

Eddie can think of a million things he wants to say, but none of it feels like enough. He settles for taking Buck’s hand in his own, their fingers lacing together across the middle seat. He squeezes three times.  _ I love you.  _

Buck squeezes back. 


	11. the one where eddie gets jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly .... the chapter title speaks for itself
> 
> set a couple years into buck's presidency - established buddie, but the public doesn't know yet
> 
> rating: m  
> word count: 1519

“Do you hate this party?” Eddie whispers, just loud enough for Buck to hear. They’re at the Vice President’s home for one of the many annual holiday parties held this time of year. There are so many holiday-related obligations Buck has to attend in the first couple weeks of December that they all start to blur together. None of them ever compare to Buck’s holiday party, but for the most part they’re not too bad. Except for this one. 

The Veep is in charge tonight, the event a stark contrast to the ones Buck hosts, if the string quartet and hors d'oeuvres being passed by white-gloved waiters is any indication. At the White House Christmas party last year, Buck had arranged for three chart-topping performers, a fleet of local food trucks, and all the alcohol (which was  _ flowing _ ) dyed red and green. Tonight is all hushed voices, classical music, and black ties. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of those things, but Buck is bored out of his skull. 

He takes a sip of wine and says, “It’s fine.” Eddie's standing two steps behind him, scanning the room. Despite the two of them being attached at the hip for the last few years, and _especially_ the last few months since they were shot at, the American people still don't know they're together. So instead of being here as Buck's date, Eddie's here working. Which, frankly, he doesn't mind. He'd be scanning the room and following Buck around either way. At least this way he's making overtime to do it. 

It certainly has its drawbacks, though. Such as not being able to keep his arm around Buck's waist like he so desperately wants to. Not being able to whisper about other guests in Buck's ear, not being able to join Buck in a glass of wine (or three) to take the edge off of the evening. And, perhaps the worst, standing two paces behind Buck, speaking straight ahead as they both look elsewhere in an attempt to appear casual and platonic. 

Though it may be for the better– after Eddie complimented Buck's tux in the car over here and was met with a smirk and "It'll look even better on your floor later," he wasn't sure how well he'd do keeping his hands to himself. So maybe the distance is a good thing. At least for the other partygoers' sake, anyway. 

But Buck totally hates this party. Eddie can read Buck like a goddamn picture book with size 72 print on a good day, but tonight, with Buck on his third glass of wine and completely lacking what (already little) control of his facial expressions he’s normally able to maintain, there’s no question. Especially not as some dignitary waves from the other side of the room and Buck stiffens just a little before flashing a smile and raising his own hand in response. 

“You totally hate it,” Eddie says. He takes Buck’s silence as an admission. “You want to leave?”

“I can’t leave,” Buck says through a smile, nodding a quick greeting at an older couple who passes by. 

“The question isn’t if you _can_ leave, it’s if you want to.” 

Buck’s chest thumps in his chest. He’s not sure if it’s the wine or the anticipation of getting out of this snooze fest, but whatever it is has his heart knocking into his ribs eagerly. Of course, it could also be the fact that Eddie is so tuned into him that he knows what Buck wants and needs even before he knows it himself. But it’s probably just the wine. 

“Mr. President.” 

Buck’s pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a familiar voice. He and Eddie both turn to see the Australian Ambassador to the U.S., nothing but sharp angles and a bright smile. Buck had first met him earlier in the week at the beginning of his visit to Washington, but hadn’t expected to see him here. 

“Mr. Ambassador,” Buck says with a smile, switching his wine glass to his left hand extending his right. “Happy holidays.” 

“Same to you,” he says, clapping Buck on the bicep as he shakes his hand. Eddie can’t help but notice his fingers linger just a little too long. His jaw clenches involuntarily. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Buck shrugs. “It’s the Vice President’s party.” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “Of course I’m here.” 

“Huh,” the Ambassador replies, a sneaky grin on his face. “I guess I just never pegged you as one for this whole hoity-toity scene.” He gestures at the room around them, smirking. 

Buck brings a hand to his chest, feigning horror as he plays into the Ambassador's joke. "If you’d like to keep your job, you’d better watch it.”

The Ambassador shrugs. “This job is over-hyped anyway,” he grins. It’s all fun and games to everyone but Eddie, who has to blink twice so his eyes don’t burn holes into the side of the Ambassador’s head. 

Buck laughs.“Over-hyped job? I wouldn’t know anything about that.” It earns him a playful shove to the shoulder from the Ambassador. 

He smirks, leaning in and saying something to Buck that Eddie doesn’t quite catch. His insides burn with jealousy, each breath he takes catching in his throat as he tries to quell the urge to shove this guy out of his sight. 

Buck backs up suddenly, the easy smile from before dropping from his face at record speed. “Pass,” he says, his voice firm and steady, leaving no room for argument or interpretation. Eddie starts to take a step forward, but Buck opens his palm where it hangs at his side, his way of telling him to hold off. 

Eddie’s on high alert, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches the two of them intently. Whatever this guy just said, it pissed Buck off. 

“You’re sure?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Buck scoffs. “Positive.” 

“Your loss.” The Ambassador shrugs, walking away without so much as a glance back.

Buck turns to Eddie immediately. He doesn't have to say anything, his pleading eyes the only sign Eddie needs to usher him out the side door without so much as another word.

The crisp chill of the mid-December night wraps itself around them the second the door opens, sticking to the inside of Buck's lungs as he sucks in a deep breath. He exhales slowly, leaning up against the side of the house. 

“What happened?” Eddie asks. 

“He...propositioned me?” Buck half-says, half-asks, as if he’s not even sure it really happened. 

Everything around Eddie grinds to a halt. His blood runs ice cold, turning thick and slow as it crawls through his veins. His chest feels heavy, his fingertips buzzing as he fights the urge to march back inside and grab this guy by his stuffy tuxedo collar. 

“You wouldn’t want to ditch this thing together, would you?” Buck mimics in a (quite frankly, terrible) Australian accent. “God, I feel gross,” he says, scrunching up his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Who does that?”

Eddie’s at a loss for words. He’s disgusted with this guy.

He’s angry at himself for not realizing what was said, for not shutting it down the second the Ambassador even  _ thought _ about crossing that line. 

He’s appalled at the mere idea that Buck could ever be anything but  _ his.  _

He’s also dying to get his hands on Buck and remind him exactly who he belongs to. But  Buck seems to be on the same page, as he grabs Eddie’s hands in his own and pulls him in until their bodies are flush against one another. 

Eddie’s hands come to rest on Buck’s hips, their foreheads touching as Eddie takes a long, shaky breath. “I shoulda told him I only have eyes for you,” Buck murmurs into the space between their lips. "Told him I'm spoken for," he continues. "That you're mine."

Eddie practically whines. 

His breath catches in his throat. He knows this is a bad idea, knows they’re dancing with the devil here. Anyone could walk out at any minute, could catch them red-handed. But nothing shy of a natural disaster – and maybe not even that– could stop him from surging forward and taking Buck’s lips in his own, their hips knocking together as Buck’s back hits the wall. 

He parts his legs instantly, Eddie stepping into the space between them, their thighs slotting together as Buck guides Eddie’s lips to his neck. His eyes screw shut, chin tipping up towards the night sky as he draws in a shaky breath. 

“You are, you know,” he manages to get out as Eddie's lips trail down his neck.

Eddie’s lost, tuned into Buck beneath his fingertips and not much else. “Hmm?” he hums against Buck’s pulse point, kissing his way back up, across his jaw, and back to his lips. 

Buck takes Eddie’s face in his hands, pulling back just enough to murmur, “Mine.” 

Eddie’s lips are soft beneath Buck’s, curling into a smile. “Can I take you home now?”

Buck grins. “Definitely.”


	12. the one with weird dreams and morning coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's short but she's sweet!! i've been so busy and haven't had much time to write lately, so apologies for my week away (hoping to have more time this week because 1) i miss y'all 2) i miss these two idiots and 3) i have so many wonderful prompts waiting for me!!) 
> 
> this one is set in the final year of Buck's presidency (Eddie and Buck are living together in the White House residence) and is for all of you who asked for more domestic fluff <3
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 538

“I had a weird dream last night,” Buck says, sticking a mug beneath the coffee maker and jabbing at the buttons. He yawns, drumming his fingers on the counter as he waits for it to hum to life. 

“Oh?” Eddie asks, coming up behind him. He presses a kiss to Buck’s cheek before resting his head on his shoulder. “How weird?” He snakes his arms beneath Buck’s, crossing them across his waist and pulling him close. 

Buck sighs, humming contentedly as he tips his head back against Eddie’s shoulder, their temples touching as he closes his eyes. “Well,” he says, interrupted by the sputtering of the coffee maker as it finally switches on and starts brewing. “We were firefighters.”

Eddie laughs, the warm and familiar sound of it an immediate dopamine rush through Buck’s veins. “Firefighters?” he asks, releasing Buck from his gentle hold and walking over to the fridge.

“Yeah,” Buck replies, grabbing his now-full mug from beneath the machine. He replaces it with an empty one for Eddie, the machine humming loudly as it restarts. “Weird, right?”

Eddie has some funny look on his face when he passes Buck the milk. “What?” Buck asks.

“Just thinking about you in a turnout coat,” Eddie smirks. 

Buck grins. “Oh?”

“Maybe a missed opportunity.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

Just as Buck realizes he needs a spoon from the drawer beside the stove, Eddie’s dropping one in his mug. Buck stirs his coffee and takes a sip. He feels warm all over, unsure if it’s the hot bean juice or the thrill that– still, even nine years later– comes with the realization that Eddie always knows exactly what Buck needs before he even knows himself. 

“What?” Buck asks a moment later. Eddie hasn’t said anything in a minute, lost in thought. “You still thinking about how good I’d look in that coat? Because I can  _ totally _ order one.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. “I’m just glad it was only a dream, is all.”

“Why’s that? You worried you’d be too busy making eyes at me to actually fight fires?” Buck teases. 

“That, and there’s no way I could handle watching you run into burning buildings. I just… I’d fall apart. No matter how good you’d look doing it.” 

Buck pauses, his heart fluttering in his chest. Eddie’s words are so casual, but the undertones they carry have Buck’s heart hanging a little lower in his chest. 

“Yeah, but you’d have my back,” Buck points out. As long as he keeps talking, he won’t focus on how loved and cherished Eddie makes him feel in even the simplest, most mundane moments. And at least then, he won’t start crying. 

“True,” Eddie agrees. “And you’d have mine.” 

“I’m not about to quit my day job, don't worry, ” Buck assures him. “But I do think,” he says, cornering Eddie against the counter, his hands coming to rest on the granite on either side of Eddie’s hips. He leans in, his breath ghosting across Eddie’s lips as he says, “That we’d make a pretty good team.”

Eddie smiles, setting his coffee mug down and bringing his hands to Buck’s waist. “I’d have to agree.” He spreads his legs, pulling Buck into the space between them and pressing a feather-light kiss to his lips. “Now tell me more about ordering that jacket.” 


	13. the one where christopher asks about love at first sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anna asked about first meeting/initial thoughts, I listened to ivy by taylor swift a lot, and here we are, 2000 words later. 
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 2076

“Hey, Bucky?” Chris asks. It’s early on a Saturday morning, the two of them beneath a pile of blankets on Eddie’s couch. Buck’s scrolling on his phone, Chris reading a book beside him. He's tucked up beneath Buck's arm, his head resting on Buck's chest as he reads. Buck's fingers are running through Christopher's hair absentmindedly, setting Eddie's chest afire as he glances over and notices.

As much as Eddie knows his kid's pretty incredible, he admittedly never thought he'd find anyone who adores Chris this much. And here's Buck, giving him a run for his money each and every day. Though he's not sure who, of the two boys on the couch, enjoys each other more.

As he waits for the coffee to finish brewing, he spies on them, the love between the two of them almost palpable even all the way in the kitchen. He feels warm all over, his heart a little bit fuller, hanging a little heavier in his chest.

“Yeah, bud?” Buck replies.

“What’s love at first sight?” Chris asks, showing him the words on a page in his book. 

Buck locks his phone, dropping it in his lap so he can give Chris his full attention. “Well, it’s when you love someone right away. From the first time you see them.”

Chris nods. “Did you love my dad as soon as you saw him?” 

Eddie pauses, the eavesdropper, as he waits for Buck’s response. 

“Oh yeah,” Buck says. “From the very first day.”

Eddie scoffs, walking into the room. “Oh really?” he asks, passing Buck a mug filled with coffee. “You had a funny way of showing it.” 

Buck smirks, bringing it to his lips. “You did, too, if I remember correctly.” 

  
  


“I don’t need Secret Service,” Buck had said, making his way down the stairs and fumbling with the loose tie around his neck. Maddie was standing by the front door, handbag and briefcase at her feet and a cup of coffee in either hand.

“Constitution says you do,” she pointed out, setting down the coffees. Sick of watching Buck try and fail miserably to coax the fabric into a knot, she swatted his hands away to tie it herself. “Think of it as practice for the next eight years.” 

Buck had huffed, rolling his eyes. He’s a normal guy, a man of the people. His constituents know that and that’s why they elected him to the House. The current POTUS knows that, too. It’s why she nominated him for HUD secretary. Hell, his campaign platform was practically built on it. 

Having the Secret Service with him for the rest of his time on the campaign trail would only make him look like every other Washington suit with their hat in the ring. That said, he knows deep down it’s the right move. Things are heating up in the race for the Presidency and the personal security they’d hired was proving to be… less than excellent. 

“When do they start?” Buck asked.

Maddie had smoothed out the tie, now knotted perfectly around Buck’s neck. She brushed some non-existent dust off of his shoulder before smiling, pleased. “Today.” 

The knock at the door was timed perfectly. “Be nice,” Maddie hissed before opening it to reveal what very well may have be the most gorgeous man Buck had ever seen. He looked like a movie star. Between the jet-black hair, perfectly tailored black suit and aviator sunglasses, it’d be a fair guess. If not for the gun on his hip and wire running from his ear down the back of his jacket, of course. 

It seemed like Buck's world ground to a halt, everything moving in slow motion as it started spinning again a second later. He could see the guy's lips moving as he talked to Maddie, but he couldn’t make out any words. All Buck could hear was his heartbeat in his ears, his pulse quickening. 

“Special Agent Eddie Diaz,” the guy said, his words finally registering for Buck. He extended his hand.

“Evan Buckley,” he replied, stepping forward and taking Eddie’s hand in his, shaking it firmly. “But everyone calls me Buck.” 

“Well, Buck,” Eddie said, trying out the nickname. He was surprised at how natural it felt, the way it rolled off his tongue like his lips had waited a lifetime to say it. “It’s a pleasure.”

“We’ll see about that,” Maddie muttered, patting Eddie’s shoulder sympathetically. Buck looked at Eddie, smirked, and stepped past him to head to the car. 

They’d been in the car for all of four minutes when they rolled to a stop at a red light and Buck jumped out. Eddie whipped around from the passenger seat at the sound of a seatbelt unlatching. “What are you doing?” he demanded. 

“That woman has a Buckley for President shirt on,” Buck said, pointing. “I have to say hello.”

“No you don’t,” Eddie insisted. 

“Good luck,” Maddie said knowingly, just as Buck swung the car door open and stepped out onto the street corner. 

Eddie swore under his breath and leapt out after him as Chim put the hazards on. 

Maddie and Chim watched on as Eddie said something to Buck, and then to the woman he had stopped. Eddie shook his head and said something else, one hand on Buck’s arm as he nodded towards the car.

Chim laughed out loud as he uncrossed his arms to take the phone Buck passed him. He scowled as he took a picture of the woman and Buck together, each of them flashing a thumbs up. 

Buck hugged the woman before allowing Eddie to all but drag him in the direction of the car. 

“I think they like each other,” Chim had said dryly, glancing over to where Eddie was leading Buck to the car like a parent might lead a small child. 

“You can’t do that,” Eddie had hissed. “What if she was armed? A crazy stalker? Intentionally trying to lure you out onto the street so someone else could take you out?” 

“Or,” Buck had replied, pulling his seatbelt across his chest and clicking it into place. “What if she was just a supporter?”  
“It’s a gamble you take every time you approach someone like that,” Eddie explained. 

“You want to shake hands and kiss babies, by all means,” Chim had added. “But only at events where we’re running the show.” 

“Whatever,” Buck mumbled, looking out the window in an attempt to focus on anything other than the way he could still feel the sear of Eddie’s fingers on his arm, the warmth of Eddie’s touch radiating across his body and soaking deep into his bones.

At the rally, things escalated when Eddie watched Buck step over one of the barricades to talk to a couple of supporters. Buck ignored the way electricity shot through his body when Eddie’s fingers gripped his bicep and tugged him towards the exit. He pretended not to notice the way it didn’t happen when Bobby put a hand between his shoulder blades to guide him through the crowd– only beneath Eddie’s touch. 

“So,” Buck had said once Eddie and Bobby had hauled him out of the crowd and to the parking lot. He’d had his time to pout and glower at them while they were all but dragging him outside, and apparently was now ready for small talk. He looked at Eddie. “Is your full name Eduardo?” 

Eddie ignored the tiny grin on Bobby’s face. Traitor. “No.” 

“People ever call you Diaz?” 

“Not if they want me to respond.” 

Buck rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised he didn’t see his own brain. 

And then at a speech at a nearby college, the strength of the vein in Eddie’s neck was put to the test as Buck sat, unmoving, as the woman he was speaking to started digging around in her handbag for something. 

“What the hell, man?” Buck demanded when Eddie marched over and all but yanked him to his feet. There were those goddamn sparks again, setting off across Buck’s skin and sending a warm buzz through his body. 

“Are you out of your mind?” Eddie shot back. “Really, I want to know.” 

“Relax, dude.” 

“What’s to say she didn’t have a gun in there? A knife?” 

Buck shrugged. “I got a good vibe.” 

“You got a good vibe.” 

“I’m a good judge of character.” 

“A good judge of character,” Eddie had said, rolling his eyes. That’s rich. You hear that, Hen?” He called over his shoulder to where she was standing by the stage door exit. “Pull the car around. We can go back to the White House. He doesn’t need the Secret Service. He’s a good judge of character.” 

Hen shook her head. “Play nice, Eddie.” 

Buck had smirked as Eddie led him into the hallway behind the auditorium. “Yeah, Eddie. Play nice.”

“Do you have any self-preservation instincts?” Eddie asked, letting the door slam behind them. The two of them were alone in the hallway, Eddie’s hands on his hips as he waited for Buck’s answer. 

He just laughed, leaning back against the cinderblock wall as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I made it through nine years with the SEALs,” he says, tapping his temple. “So they must be here somewhere.” 

“Then use them,” Eddie said. 

Buck scoffed and said something under his breath that Eddie didn’t quite catch. 

“What?” Eddie asked. 

“Nothing,” Buck muttered. He started to walk away, stopping suddenly and turning on his heel. “Actually, you know what? No. It’s not nothing.” 

Eddie took a long, deep breath and fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. The tension in his head was bound to explode any minute, he was sure of it. 

“You can’t keep me from the people,” Buck all but shouted. “Everything I do is for them. You think I’m here for fun? That all of this is just because I woke up one morning and felt like raising a few hundred million bucks just to blow it? It’s all for them,” he said, gesturing to the closed door. “They deserve better than what this country has given them. You, a working American, you deserve better, Eddie. And I just… I need to meet them, I need to know them. To hear their stories. Otherwise, what’s all this for? If not for them?” 

Eddie was speechless. It was the way the light ignited behind Buck’s eyes as he spoke, the passion coming off him in waves, his whole body aglow with the fervor of his words. Or maybe it was the way his words managed to weasel their way past the once-impenetrable armor Eddie had shrouded himself in from the day he earned his badge. It could’ve been the way Buck clearly meant every word of what he said, how the desire to help– to redefine the society that was designed to benefit him– burned deep within him. Or maybe it was the blue eyes, the soft curls, and the long, fluttering eyelashes. Whatever it was, Eddie was done for before he even had a chance. 

Buck stormed back into the room without another word, leaving Eddie in his wake to take a deep breath, count to ten, and pretend he didn’t know with absolute certainty that he was completely, thoroughly, and unconditionally fucked. 

“What about you, Dad?” Chris asks, pulling Eddie away from his thoughts. “Did you love Bucky right away?” 

Eddie smiles, tousling Christopher’s hair. He’s not quite sure how to tell his son that his soul caught fire the moment he laid eyes on Buck. How from their very first day together, Buck had his guard faltering, if only for a moment, his essence soaking in and making itself at home in Eddie’s bones. 

Try as he may, he’d never be able to accurately describe the way that Buck’s presence brought forth an incandescent glow from the moment Maddie swung the front door open.

He can’t quite find the words to describe how Buck took a jackhammer to the walls Eddie had spent years reinforcing. How Eddie had felt like he was underground, trapped beneath the crushing weight of years of repressed fear and regret. Only for Buck to start digging him out from that very first day, clawing at the earth with mud-caked fingernails on the days when nothing else worked. 

So instead, he just tousles Christopher’s hair and says, “From the moment I saw him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sitting on so many prompts right now and i'm so so sorry if it's taking me a while to get to one you left me. i promise i will get to them all, and hopefully sooner rather than later! work and life are kicking my butt right now but i'm trying to get back into my groove i promise!!
> 
> ANYWAY i love you guys and appreciate you so very much. thank you for loving this verse as much as i do!!! reading your comments is always without fail the highlight of my day <3


	14. the one where eddie gets hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was born from a variety of prompts asking for one of the boys in danger/ buck's reaction to eddie getting hurt/ whump/ a hospital scene. i hope you enjoy!
> 
> set 5 years into buck's presidency (established buddie, the public knows)
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 3417
> 
> a lil warning for mentions of blood, but nothing graphic

It happens on a Tuesday morning in January. 

They’re at a summit in Germany, walking out of the conference hall and around the corner to the waiting car. They’ve just come down the stairs and hit the sidewalk when Eddie catches a sudden burst of movement in his peripherals. His head turns so fast Buck wonders how he doesn’t give himself whiplash. 

Before anything registers, really clicks in Buck’s mind what’s going on, there’s shouting and running and hands on his back and his shoulders. It all happens in a matter of seconds. There are agents everywhere, surrounding him and pushing him forward. 

“Out of the way!” Eddie shouts at a group of pedestrians blocking the path to the car. One guy backs straight into him in his haste to get away from the commotion, crashing into Eddie and sending him right into the metal street sign at the curb. He stumbles, recovering quickly and catching his footing just before his ankle rolls off the curb. 

There’s a million things happening at once, screaming and shoving and the smell of burning rubber in the air, but all Buck can focus on is the fact that Eddie’s not beside him anymore.  His heart pounds in his chest as he tries turning his head to find him, only to be rushed forward by whichever agent’s got their hands on his shoulders. He tries calling his name– can feel Eddie’s name in his throat, knows his lips are parted and moving– but can’t hear himself over the sound of screeching tires and metal scraping against metal.

“Mr. President!” someone shouts, tugging at Buck’s arm. It’s useless, his feet frozen in place as he scans the crowd for Eddie. 

And then there’s a hand on the small of his back that Buck would know anywhere. “Let’s go!” Eddie yells, shoving him through the open door and into the backseat as he jumps in behind him. 

The car door slams shut behind them and the car tears away from the curb before Eddie’s even in a seat. He hears his pulse in his ears, loud enough it drowns out the sirens, revving engine, and shouting over his radio. He can't focus on Buck with all the back and forth coming through his earpiece, so he yanks it from his ear, letting it hang down over his shoulder. 

His eyes are ablaze, raking over Buck’s body as he searches for any sign of injury. He hasn’t even bothered to sit properly in the seat across from Buck, instead crouching in front of him as he takes his head in his hands. “I’m fine,” Buck insists. “I’m fine, Eddie.” 

“Shut up,” Eddie breathes, running his hands over Buck’s face. “Just… let me.” 

Buck turns his head gently, proving to Eddie that there are no scrapes or bruises anywhere on his skin. Eddie’s hands make their way down Buck’s chest, his arms, his thighs in a matter of seconds, not satisfied until he’s all but reached his toes with no reaction from Buck. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks. 

Buck nods. “I’m fine. Rattled, but okay. Are you?”

Eddie finally lets out the breath he’d been holding since the street corner. He nods. Part of him wants to lay into Buck for fighting against the agent trying to get him into the car, but he doesn’t have it in him. Not when Buck’s safe and unharmed and sitting in front of him whole and unbroken. Not when the relief coursing through him is so palpable. 

“You need,” Eddie huffs, finally leaning back and catching his breath, “To develop some instincts for self preservation.”

Buck grins, leaning his head back against the leather headrest. “What fun would that be?” 

Eddie closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, sharp, hot pain exploding behind his eyes as he does. 

Buck doesn’t miss the way his breath catches, the way his eyebrows pinch, even if only for half a second. “What is it?” he asks, concern written across his face. 

“Nothing,” Eddie says, his breath hitching on the second syllable. It feels like someone’s slicing into his brain, sharp pain shooting through him with each beat of his heart.   
  
He remembers knocking the back of his head against the street sign when that guy crashed into him. But it didn’t hurt– it didn’t even slow him down. It all happened so fast.  Plus, he’s not about to tell Buck. They need to get to the Embassy first. Eddie has to get him inside and make sure he’s safe there before he does anything else. He’ll be fine. 

“I’m fine.”

Buck doesn’t believe it for a second. “Eddie.”

“I’m okay,” he says. 

Buck frowns. The car goes over a speed bump and Eddie’s eyes screw shut, his breath coming out as more of a hiss than anything. Buck shakes his head and leans forward, beating on the glass partition. “Eddie’s hurt!” he calls to the agents up front. 

“Buck,” Eddie says. He means for it to come out strong and unwavering, but it’s more of a whisper than anything. It feels like his head is splitting open. His hand flies to the back of his head. His fingers feel wet, and when he pulls them away, they’re slick with blood. 

Buck’s stomach turns.

It’s then that Eddie’s vision starts clouding with black spots, his eyelids suddenly heavy. The last thing he sees before they close is Buck’s eyes going even wider, the concern on his face turning into full-fledged panic. “Something’s wrong!” he shouts, banging on the partition again. He scrambles for the remote in the cup holder with the button to lower it. “It’s his head. He’s bleeding.” 

“Hang on!” comes a voice from up front. Eddie groans. 

“Eddie,” Buck demands, shaking him. Eddie tries to focus, tries to cling to Buck’s voice. He feels Buck’s hands on his head, one on the back of his scalp pressing tight to the cut, the other cupping his cheek. Opening his eyes feels like a momentous feat, but he does it. “I’m here,” Buck says. Eddie winces as the car takes a sharp turn. “Hey. I’m here. It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Eddie tries to hang on. If for nothing but the panic in Buck’s eyes and the way the color’s drained from his face, he tries to hang on, to stay awake. But his eyelids have never felt this heavy before. And now everything sounds like he’s underwater, Buck’s voice garbled as it ebbs further and further away from him like the tide at sunset. “Eddie, don’t. No. No, no, no. Eddie, come on.” 

“How much longer?” Buck demands. He thinks his heart might beat out of his chest. Eddie’s not answering him, his eyes now closed and his hand still beneath Buck’s as he tries to squeeze it. 

“We’re a minute out,” the agent behind the wheel calls up. “Is he breathing?” 

It’s the longest second of Buck’s life, watching to see if Eddie’s chest will rise and fall. When it does, the relief crashing into him is so strong he thinks it might split his chest in half. 

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s breathing. He’s unconscious, I think.” 

The car screeches to a halt a moment later. Buck looks up and realizes they’re in a hospital’s ambulance bay. The doors fly open and there are people climbing into the car and hovering over Eddie. Buck’s heart is pounding in his ears, his hands shaking as an agent guides him back into a seat, only for him to sit back and watch helplessly. 

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he looks over to see Hen beside him. She doesn’t say anything, just sits next to him and takes his hand in hers. She doesn’t seem to mind that his fingers are still wet with Eddie’s blood, that it’s drying into the cracks in his skin with each passing second. 

When two nurses appear and put Eddie onto a gurney to bring him inside, Buck tries to get out of the car and go too. “Hen, please!” he begs, his voice breaking as he tries to get past her and out of the car. “I…I have to go in there. He can’t be alone.  _ Please _ .” 

She looks heartbroken as she wraps her arms around him as the car door slams shut and they tear away. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. You know we can’t let you go in there yet.” 

“Please,” Buck begs. “He’s all by himself and–” 

“Chim and Bobby are with him,” she says. “They were in the car behind you. They followed him in.”

“If there are agents in there I should be able–”

“Buck,” Hen says. Her voice is warm, sympathetic. But it’s also unwavering. He knows there are protocols for a reason– knows he has to get to a safe place and that he can’t be running into large buildings before they’ve been cleared and there are plans in place. But none of that makes it any easier. 

The truth of it is that Buck has spent the last five years of his life living and dying for stolen moments with Eddie, each of them on borrowed time. The first year he knew Eddie was spent waiting for the other shoe to drop— for the public to find out, for Eddie to change his mind, for all of it to blow up in their faces spectacularly. He felt like he was teetering on the edge, toeing a fine line, one side of which was the euphoria of having each other and the other a disastrous, soul crushing heartbreak. 

It feels like that again today as the car pulls up to the Embassy, and he’s expected to get out and go inside without Eddie two paces behind him. Like there’s a hand around his heart and the slightest blow of the wind could cause it to squeeze, crushing Buck to bits without warning.

Despite his many refusals, Hen manages to get him inside the Embassy with the promise of bringing him to the hospital as soon as it’s been cleared. When the doors close behind him, he just stands there.  Maddie runs in a moment later, the double doors to the Presidential office swinging shut behind her with a loud bang. “Are you okay?” she asks. It takes a moment for Buck’s brain to catch up. “I’m fine,” he says. “Eddie’s hurt. He’s at the hospital and I can’t go and–” 

Maddie steps forward, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into her chest. He chokes on a sob as she rubs his back, whispering “It’s okay,” over and over in his ear.  “They’ll get you over there as soon as they can,” she insists. He knows she’s right, but it doesn’t make the waiting any easier. He knows that Bobby, Chim, and Hen know how important it is to him– how much he longs to be with Eddie– and he knows they’re hard at work making sure it’s safe for him to do just that. 

But each second he’s here, the pit in his stomach grows even more. It already feels like it might consume him, could swallow him whole with just the wrong blow of the wind. It’s excruciating, standing here and knowing that Eddie’s on the other side of town, not knowing if he’s okay– if he’s awake, if he’s even alive. The thought alone turns Buck’s stomach. 

People bustle in and out, advisors and aides and a doctor to confirm Buck’s alright and clean Eddie’s blood off his hand. He sees them come in and watches their lips move, but he can’t remember a single thing any of them say. It feels like he’s floating outside of his body, nothing left but the shell of his being as his mind chews itself up. 

“Evan.” Maddie’s voice cuts through the fog as she rises from one of the couches on the other side of the room. “Did you hear me? They’re ready. Let’s go.” 

Six blocks away, Eddie’s laying in a hospital bed, Bobby in the chair beside his bed, Chim standing next to the monitors, arms crossed as he studies them. Eddie had come to when they were wheeling him in, his eyes blinking open slowly. His fingers twitched against the sheet of the gurney, stretching, searching. 

Bobby had grabbed his hand. “It’s okay, Eddie. You’re alright.” 

“Buck,” was the first thing Eddie had said, his voice small. 

“We're gonna get him here as soon as we can.”

“Is he…” Eddie’s voice trailed off, a flash of pain shooting through his skull. 

“He’s okay,” Chim patted Eddie’s shoulder. 

“The car,” Eddie said. "It was coming right at us."

“It was an accident,” Bobby replied. “The driver had a heart attack behind the wheel. It wasn’t intentional.” 

Eddie nodded. “So Buck?”

“He’s safe. Hen’s with him, they’re on the way to the Embassy.”

Between that and the morphine drip that the nurses wasted no time in setting up, bless them, Eddie was able to breathe a little easier. It wasn’t long until someone came through to stitch up the back of his head. And then he was wheeled off for a scan. When it came back clean, he was sent back to his room for a few hours of observation before they’d discharge him. 

He insisted that Bobby and Chim could leave, but they refused. Wouldn’t even consider it, no matter how many times Eddie insisted he’d be fine alone. 

He likes to think he put up a valiant fight against the exhaustion pulling at him from deep within his bones, but the truth is, he was fast asleep within minutes. And now, his chest rises and falls rhythmically, the monitors beside him beeping steadily. 

Bobby sits up as he hears the telltale beep from within his ear. “Bobby, Bobby, Hen.” 

“Go for Bobby,” he replies, his voice low as to not wake Eddie. 

“Eagle has landed on the premises,” she says. “Making our way to you now.”

Bobby stands, heading over to the door. He peeks into the hallway. “Roger that.” 

Sure enough, a moment later, Buck bursts through the door to Eddie’s room. His eyes are rimmed in red, his hair and tie disheveled. He freezes at the foot of the bed, staring at Eddie. He looks so small, dressed in a hospital gown with a tube coming out of the crook in his elbow. “What happened?” he asks. 

“He hit his head in all the commotion outside the conference center,” Bobby explains, relaying the information they had pieced together before Eddie had fallen asleep. “I guess with the adrenaline, he didn’t even realize he’d been hurt until you guys were in the car and he calmed down.”

Buck chews the inside of his cheek as he nods, processing everything Bobby’s telling him. He can’t help but feel tremendous guilt– not unlike the day Eddie took a bullet to the vest that was meant for Buck. He takes a long, shaky breath and wills himself not to cry. 

“He needed a few stitches,” Bobby continues. “No concussion, which is good. They did a CT too and everything looked good. They just want to watch him for a couple of hours, but he’ll be able to leave tonight.” 

“Everything looks good,” Maddie chimes in. Buck glances over and notices she’s swiped Eddie’s chart from beside the door. “He’s gonna be fine, Buck.” 

Buck nods. “Okay,” he says, relief washing over him. His eyes are glued to Eddie, watching his chest rise and fall steadily. He longs for him to open his eyes so he can hear it from Eddie himself. But hearing it from Maddie is the next best thing. 

“We’ll be outside,” Bobby says, placing a hand on Buck’s shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. The three of them clear out, leaving Buck alone in the room with Eddie. He drops into the chair beside the bed, scooting it closer so he can rest his elbow on the edge of the mattress and take Eddie’s hand in his. 

He swears he feels Eddie’s fingers twitch against his.

“Eddie,” Buck’s voice catches in his throat, his breath bated as he waits for a response. His thumb brushes against Buck’s– it’s gentle, but it’s there. 

Buck breathes for the first time since he stepped out of the conference center, all the fear and pain of the day fitting perfectly in the palm of Eddie’s hand. And when Eddie squeezes Buck’s hand, it all ebbs away until there’s nothing left but the crushing weight of relief. 

“Hi,” Buck says, his eyes shining. He runs a hand through Eddie’s hair gently, smoothing it into place. 

Eddie’s eyes close as he smiles, humming contentedly. “Hi,” he says. Buck can tell from the single syllable that he’s on some serious painkillers. Buck drops his head, his chest aching as he exhales, long and slow. “Don’t scare me like that again,” he says, his voice breaking. “Promise.”

His voice is small but strong. “I promise.” 

Eddie anticipates the way Buck’s fingers curl as Eddie drags a thumb across his palm.  It’s the same way that Buck knows, after Eddie’s laced their fingers together once more, that he’s going to rub his thumb against the side of Buck’s index finger, their bodies having long since memorized each other.

Eddie takes a deep breath, trying to fight against his drooping eyelids. The truth of it is, it scares him sometimes. How much he loves Buck. The magnetic pull drawing them to each other seems to only grow stronger with each passing day, the fire burning deep in his chest having burned steady since the first time he took Buck’s hand in his. It’s never once cooled, never faded. It’s steady, unwavering, tireless. He knows with certainty he could live a thousand lifetimes before it ever even flickers. 

Buck brings Eddie's hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. It’s then that Eddie catches the red streak on the cuff of his white dress shirt. His stomach drops. “Did you get hurt?” he asks, taking Buck’s wrist in his hand gently, turning it over as he searches for any signs of injury.

Buck is confused. He glances down at where Eddie’s thumb is running over his shirtsleeve and notices the bright red streak for the first time. His mind flashes back to the car, to how Eddie’s head felt heavier in his hands the second his eyes closed, to the way Eddie’s blood-covered hair felt sticky beneath his fingers. 

It’s the one thing his mind has been going back to all afternoon– like it’s rewinding the tape only to pause at the moment it all went to shit. He glances up, his eyes meeting Eddie’s. “It’s your blood.”

“Shit,” Eddie says softly. His voice is so quiet, so small, Buck hardly recognizes it. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Buck can’t think of a single thing Eddie has to apologize for. “What are you sorry for? It’s okay. It’ll be fine once it’s dry cleaned.”

“Not the shirt,” Eddie says. “You. You’re not okay.” He can feel it coming off of Buck– it’s in the way he grips Eddie’s fingers a little tighter than he ever has before, in how his eyes have been shining since the second he saw Eddie’s open. “Are you?”

Buck shrugs. He’s not sure how to put it into words. “You’re just…” Buck’s voice trails off, looking for the right words. He clears his throat. “For the first time, I have something to lose. And I can’t. I can’t, Eddie.” His eyes shine as he blinks twice in an attempt to clear the hot tears welling in his eyes. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m here,” Eddie points out. “And not going anywhere. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

If Eddie’s spent years building up walls, Buck’s the ivy that climbs the stone, crawling into crevices and holding tight. Ivy that doesn't stop until the stone’s covered entirely, until it’s become a very part of the structural being, the two becoming one. Stone and ivy, each of them fine on their own but remarkable together. 

“Get some sleep,” Buck says, running a thumb over Eddie’s cheek. “I’ll be right here.”

Eddie’s eyes are half-shut, sleep starting to pull him back under. “Yeah?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.

Buck’s lips tug up into a smile, the last thing Eddie sees before he finally lets his eyes close. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” 


	15. the one with buck's husband eddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was born from [rebecca's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BSunsetTowers/pseuds/221BSunsetTowers) prompt: "sometime after Buck’s second term is over, Buck gets an invite to some fancy event at the White House and takes Eddie as his plus one, and they finally get to experience one of those parties as a couple in public without Eddie having to pretend to only be Buck’s secret service agent."
> 
> this is set a little over a year after buck's left office. i hope you enjoy!
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 1748

“If you don’t hold still I’m giving up,” Eddie says, glancing up to meet Buck’s eyes. 

“Well if you had any sense of urgency we’d be done by now,” Buck replies, if only to see Eddie raise one eyebrow, a playful warning.

“And if you had learned to do this yourself in the eight years you were President, we’d already be in the car.” 

“Maybe I just like letting you do it.”

Eddie smirks. “Hold still.” 

Buck obeys, standing still long enough for Eddie to finish tying the bow tie around his neck. “Good boy,” Eddie murmurs, knowing damn well what those two little words are bound to do to Buck. 

Sure enough, the corner of his mouth twitches up into a hint of a smile, his fingers gripping Eddie’s hips as a flush creeps up his neck. “Watch yourself, Diaz,” he says, his breath ghosting across Eddie’s bottom lip. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.” 

Eddie’s lips curl into a smile against Buck’s as he kisses him. “I mean, we left Chris in New York with Maddie and Chim for a reason, no?”

If Eddie in a perfectly-fitted tux, raking his teeth across Buck’s bottom lip as his hands splay out across Buck’s chest didn’t do him in, the thought of a hotel room to themselves tonight just might. Buck practically whines. 

“Do we have to go to this?” he asks. 

Eddie chuckles. “Yes.” He presses a final kiss to Buck’s lips before smoothing out his tie. He steps back, satisfied. “But if you think I won’t be counting the minutes until I can take you back here and get this off,” he says, tugging at the sleeve of Buck’s tuxedo. “Then you’re wrong.” 

Eddie’s knee bounces the entire car ride across town. Buck places a hand on his knee and squeezes reassuringly. “Nervous?” he asks. 

Since the day the invitation for tonight’s dinner came, Eddie had seemed to be a little nervous about it. Buck suspected it was because he’d never been to a black tie event at the White House as a guest– always as an agent. Even in the last few years of Buck’s presidency, when the public knew that he and Eddie were together, Eddie always insisted on working. Buck knew he'd never be able to turn his agent brain off long enough to enjoy any of the events. That was proven the first and only time he came to a formal dinner as Buck’s guest. He was on edge the entire time, eyeing up the other guests and unable to relax until Buck whispered, “Just go get a radio, baby.” 

In the year since Buck’s left office, Eddie’s managed to relax a great deal when it comes to Buck’s safety. Sure, he’s still employed by the Secret Service and still works as Buck’s principal agent. But the job looks a lot different now that Buck’s no longer a sitting president and they no longer live smack in the middle of the nation’s capital. Which Buck is eternally thankful for. Especially since Buck would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to this since the moment the invitation came. He knows that beneath the nerves, the same is true for Eddie. But whereas Eddie's always kept more of a lid on his emotions, Buck has always had them on his sleeve for all to see. With a neon arrow overhead pointing to them, just in case anyone were to somehow miss them.

And he's been practically buzzing with excitement about this dinner. A fter fifteen years in Washington with “and guest” on the front of each envelope, Buck pretended he didn’t get butterflies when he saw the invitation in the mailbox addressed to “President Evan Buckley and Special Agent Edmundo Diaz.” 

But the butterflies were totally there. 

When he passed Eddie the invitation and watched his eyes light up, Buck felt warm all over. He knew that as much as he had wanted Eddie beside him at one of these dinners, Eddie had spent the last several years wanting it just as much. As the weekend drew closer, the two of them got more and more excited. Buck could hardly wait, returning to the White House as a guest with Eddie on his arm, the two of them fully able to enjoy every part of the night— not to mention a teenager-free weekend to themselves— it sounded like a dream. 

Eddie had spent  _ hours _ going back and forth on which shoes he should wear with his tux, which Buck found incredibly endearing (not to mention ridiculously cute.)

“They’re shoes, Eds,” Buck had said, looking up from his book. “Just pick a pair before you give yourself an ulcer.” 

Eddie had sighed, running his hands through his hair and glancing down at the two pairs he had it narrowed down to. “I don’t want to look ridiculous.”

Buck laid his book down on the mattress beside him, face down to hold his page. “You could show up dressed like that,” he said, nodding towards Eddie’s old Army tee shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair disheveled and his socks mismatched. “And you’ll still be the hottest one in the room.” 

It had helped ease some of Eddie’s nerves, but even now, in the car on the way across town, there’s still a sense of underlying anxiety coursing through him with each beat of his heart. 

And now Buck wants to know if he’s nervous. Years ago, he’d have lied and put on a brave face. Denied, denied, denied. Insisted he was fine. Hell, he might have even scoffed at the presumption. But somewhere along the way, amidst the banter and hand holding and hushed promises and stolen kisses that filled the years, Buck broke down Eddie’s walls to the point where he stopped seeing his own feelings as a burden. 

So much so that he doesn’t hesitate to admit, “A little bit.” 

He could sense Eddie’s anxiety from the moment he put his suit on earlier, can all but feel it beneath his skin as he rubs circles into Eddie’s knee with his thumb. “It means a lot that you’re here with me,” Buck says honestly. “I used to sit through these things and dream of this day.” 

Eddie smiles, resting his head against Buck’s shoulder as the car rolls to a stop. “Me too,” he says honestly. 

Buck can feel Eddie tense beside him as they walk through the doors to the White House a few minutes later. He takes his hand wordlessly, their fingers lacing together as they step into the ballroom. 

A waiter approaches them immediately, extending a sleek black tray with two glasses of champagne. Buck takes them, passing one to Eddie and raising his own in a toast. “To my perfectly knotted bow tie,” Buck deadpans. 

Eddie laughs. “To a child-free weekend,” he adds. 

“To a hotel room with a do not disturb sign,” Buck says, his voice low as to not be overheard. 

Eddie smirks, clinking his glass against Buck’s before bringing it to his lips to take a sip. 

“Mr. President.” The warm voice coming from behind Buck sounds familiar. He turns to see the former Treasury secretary. 

“Madam Secretary,” Buck says, grinning. 

“It’s so great to see you,” she says. 

“You, too,” he says. He hugs her, careful not to spill what’s left of his champagne down her back as they embrace. When he steps back, he places his hand on the small of Eddie’s back. “You remember my husband Eddie.”

A warm buzz rushes over Eddie’s body, tickling the tips of his ears and humming through his veins. He’s fairly certain it’s got nothing to do with the champagne and everything to do with Buck’s comforting touch and casual introduction. They’ve been married almost a year now, and the word  _ husband  _ still brings with it an air of excitement. 

It’s not like he was expecting Buck to introduce him as “my Secret Service agent with whom I spent the better part of two years engaging in an illicit affair, until we finally pulled our heads out of our asses and realized we weren’t kidding anyone, at which point we got together but hid it for another few years before we went public and then finally got married some ten years after our first meeting.” But “my husband Eddie” might be the second-best string of three words he’s ever heard cross Buck’s lips. And the simple, matter-of-fact way it rolled off Buck’s tongue has Eddie blinking twice in an attempt to keep his pupils from turning into big, red cartoon hearts. 

“Of course I do,” she says with a warm smile, shaking Eddie’s hand. “The best Secret Service agent to walk these halls in the last hundred years.” 

“Two hundred, if you ask me,” Buck says, sliding his hand from Eddie’s back to his waist, pulling him into his side gently. It’s no different than how half the other couples in the room are standing as they make their way around, mingling. It’s normal, mundane– blending in, being just another one of the happy couples in a room full of a few dozen others– but it feels momentous at the same time. It’s thrilling in its own way. Eddie’s nervousness ebbs away with each passing minute as the two of them make their way round the room. Buck’s hand never leaves the small of Eddie’s back, except when he’s shaking hands and hugging old friends. And each time it’s more of the same: 

“You remember my husband, Eddie.”

“Have you met my husband, Eddie?”

“Evan Buckley, nice to meet you. This is my husband, Eddie Diaz.” 

Each time, he glances over at Eddie with a warm smile, his eyes bright as he looks to his better half. Eddie thought he was worried about his own eyes turning into cartoon hearts, but Buck might beat him there. 

Their thighs press up against one another underneath the table as they sit through dinner. Buck spent eight years hosting this event, and it always seemed to drag on for an eternity. And yet, tonight, with Eddie beside him, it passes far quicker than it ever has. 

The night’s over before he knows it, the opening of the ballroom doors taking him by surprise. As people start to trickle out, he reaches for Eddie’s hand, squeezing it gently as they make their way to the waiting car.    
Eddie squeezes back three times. 

Buck grins. “I love you, too.” 

  
  



	16. the one where the floor is lava

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year, y'all! [BunnyCreekStyleDipTydeGregstophe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyCreekStyleDipTydeGregstophe) asked for buck, eddie, and chris spending the day together with the added bonus of eddie and chris ganging up on buck in a game. your wish is my command, especially when it's this fun to write :D
> 
> this is set two-ish years into buck's presidency (they're together, but chris and the nation don't know yet)
> 
> rating: g  
> word count: 2002

Saturday sun comes through the big windows in Eddie’s living room, the furniture and floors in its wake set aglow. Christopher’s shadow dances across the sun-soaked wood as Buck comes up behind him and wraps him in a hug, his legs kicking into the air as he squeals in delight, leaning back into Buck’s chest as he’s scooped off the ground. The bags beneath Buck’s tired eyes fade away, completely consumed by a grin that nearly touches his ears as the sound of Christopher’s giggle fills the room. 

Eddie looks at the two of them fondly and smiles. He thinks he’d very much like to live in this moment forever, thanks. 

“Oh no,” Buck says suddenly, his voice taking on a grave tone. Chris looks up at him, eyes wide. Eddie glances over immediately, his heart speeding up for just a tick or two. He catches the mischievous glint in Buck’s eyes, and is instantly calmed by the wink that follows. 

“What is it, Bucky?” Chris asks. His voice is brimming with concern and it’s enough to make Buck absolutely melt. 

“The floor,” Buck says  earnestly. The way Chris is hanging onto his every word almost has him feeling bad. Almost. “It’s lava.” 

With that, he leaps onto the couch, Christopher shrieking as he holds onto Buck’s arms, still wrapped tight around him. Buck steps over the side of the couch and onto an armchair. He moves carefully as not to accidentally fall, or god forbid, drop Chris. But steady and mindful as he may be, he’s far from slow, hopping across Eddie’s furniture with remarkable precision and speed. 

Eddie’s watching the spectacle from the couch, affection coloring his face as he watches Chris cling to Buck, his smile wide as he throws his head back, giggling uncontrollably. 

Buck makes a big show of stretching his leg out between the armchair and the coffee table. “Whoa!” he says, the word drawn out and chock full of the dramatic flair Eddie has come to adore as he feigns as if he might not make it. He jostles Chris around in his arms as he pretends to teeter between the chair and table, his leg outstretched. 

“You can do it, Bucky!” Chris insists, eyeing the gap. “You just have to say  _ I can do hard things  _ and then you will.” 

Eddie’s breath catches around a lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat. 

_ You can do hard things, bud.  _ Buck had said that to Chris a few weeks before. The two of them were on FaceTime before Chris went to bed, and Eddie could hear their conversation from where he was cleaning up the kitchen. Christopher was learning double digit subtraction at school, and to say it wasn’t going well would be… the understatement of the century. 

“I thought I was a pretty smart guy,” Eddie had said to Buck that morning. “And then my second grader asked for help with math.”

Buck had rubbed Eddie’s back sympathetically. “The brightest mathematicians in the world wouldn’t jump in front of a bullet for me, though,” he said. “Or look half as good as you do while doing it.” 

And that night, when Chris told Buck he didn’t think he’d ever earn a sticker on his math homework, Buck hadn’t hesitated before saying, “I know you can.”

“But it’s hard.” 

“So what?” Buck asked. “You can do hard things, bud. When it feels hard, you just remind yourself. You gotta say _ I can do hard things _ .” 

“But what if I can’t?” Chris had asked, his voice small.

“What are you talking about? I watch you do hard things every day.” 

“But those are hard things I know how to do,” Chris replied. 

Eddie could hear the smile in Buck’s voice, even through the phone and down the hall. “Well, yeah,” he had said. “But there was a time when you didn’t know how to do them.”

“I guess,” Chris still sounded dejected. 

“Let’s try it together,” Buck insisted. “ _ I can do hard things. _ Your turn.”

“I can do hard things.” 

Buck raised an eyebrow. “Is that the best you can do? Come on.  _ I can do hard things. _ ”

“I can do hard things,” Chris repeated, the smile starting to creep back onto his face. 

“Good, but not great. Again.” 

Chris giggled. “I can do hard things.” 

“Once more, with feeling. C’mon,” Buck had said. “ _ I can do hard things! _ ”

“I can do hard things!” Chris called back, his voice strong and confident. 

“Yes! That’s my boy!” Buck cheered. It was a good thing Eddie was leaning up against the kitchen counter or else there was a better than good chance he’d have melted into a puddle right then and there, would’ve become one with the kitchen tiles. Here lies Edmundo Diaz, cause of death:  _ my boy. _

And now, Chris giving Buck the same advice has Eddie’s heart feeling just a few sizes too big– like it just might break through his ribs and beat clean out of his chest. He’s sure he has the sappiest, goofiest look on his face as he watches the two of them, but he couldn’t care less. 

Buck teeters some more, drawing out the suspense. “Okay,” he says slowly. He glances down at Chris, their eyes meeting. “I can do hard things,” Buck declares. “Right?”

“Right!” Christopher confirms. Buck nods slowly. He takes a big, dramatic breath and lets his foot drop onto the coffee table, Chris and Eddie erupting into enthusiastic cheers as he brings his other foot over, standing securely atop the wood. 

“I knew you could do it!” Chris exclaims, wrapping his arms around Buck's neck. 

Buck grins. “I couldn’t have done it without you, little man,” he says. He looks over at Eddie, tips his head towards Chris and then to Eddie and raises his eyebrows. Eddie picks up what he’s putting down and nods slightly. 

Once Eddie’s set his coffee cup down safely on the coaster atop the end table, Buck gasps. “Uh oh!” he exclaims, looking at Chris with wide eyes. 

“What?” Chris asks, giggling. 

“The floor isn’t lava anymore,” Buck says. “You are!” he shouts, tossing Chris into Eddie’s waiting arms. 

Chris is hooting with laughter as Eddie catches him, only to push him onto the couch cushion beside him a second later and mime getting burned everywhere Chris had touched him. 

“Wow,” Eddie says, nudging Christopher. “Both of us betrayed by Buck, can you believe it?”

Buck scoffs. 

“I think it’s time for payback,” Eddie says conspiratorially. “What do you think?”

Chris nods eagerly. 

“As if you two could ever outsmart me,” Buck challenges. 

Which is how he finds himself hiding beneath the blankets on Eddie’s bed as Chris calls, “Three…. two…. one…. Ready or not, here we come!” 

He had started off beneath the bed, but then thought better of it right around the ten second warning. Everyone always checks beneath the bed during hide and seek. It’s a rookie move. But  _ in  _ the bed? Genius, if you ask him. 

He can’t help but smile as he hears Eddie and Chris making their way down the hall, talking their way through each room. 

“He’s not in the shower,” Eddie announces.

“Hmm,” Chris hums. “How about under the sink?” 

Buck bites back a laugh as he hears the door to the cabinet open. Chris couldn’t even fit down there, let alone Buck. The fact that Eddie’s checking anyway, just for Chris, might be one of the cuter things Buck’s ever heard.

“Bathroom’s clear,” Eddie announces. “Diaz out,” he says before stepping into the hallway, just like he would if he were sweeping a room at work. 

“Diaz out,” Chris says, announcing his own exit into the hallway, just like his dad. 

“That just leaves my bedroom,” Eddie declares. Buck hears the door open slowly. “After you, dude. I’ve got your six. Do you want left or right?”

“Right,” Christopher says. 

“Roger that.”

Christopher steps into the room, Eddie right behind him. Buck pulls the duvet down a few inches, just far enough that he’s able to peek through the cracks between the pillows to watch the two of them search the room. “Left side clear,” Eddie says. 

“Right side clear,” Christopher answers as Eddie drops down to check beneath the bed.

“So is under the bed,” Eddie confirms. He stands up, crossing his arms across his chest and nodding at Chris. “What’s next, Special Agent Diaz?”

Chris looks around the room, thinking. “Closet?” he asks. 

Eddie shakes his head, bringing a finger to his lips. He points to the bed. When Christopher realizes that Buck’s beneath the mountain of blankets and pillows, his face lights up. Eddie motions for him to keep quiet as the two of them tiptoe over. 

“Well,” Eddie says loudly, heaving a sigh and placing his hands on his hips. “I guess we can’t find him. That’s too bad.”

“Yeah,” Chris agrees, grinning. “Too bad.”

Eddie winks. “Maybe we should just jump on the bed instead.” 

“Yes!” Christopher exclaims. 

“There’s only this big, soft pile of pillows and blankets,” Eddie continues, giving Buck another chance to reveal himself. When he doesn't, he continues. “I bet that would be fun to jump into.” 

He briefly wonders if this is a rapid undoing of all the time he’s spent drilling  _ no jumping on the bed  _ into Christopher’s mind. But the smile that overtakes Christopher’s face when Eddie hoists him up onto the bed and gives him the  _ go ahead  _ nod is worth it a hundred times over. 

He jumps around a couple times, and it takes everything in Buck to keep from laughing. He channels his SEAL training and blocks everything out, trying his very best to stay still and quiet, even as Chris jumps on top of him. Sure, Eddie and Chris know he’s here– but that doesn't mean he’s going to surrender a second before he has to. 

“Hmm,” Eddie says after Chris has jumped a few times with no reaction from Buck. “Maybe I should put these blankets in the wash. What do you think?”

Chris giggles, nodding as he sits back against the headboard. Buck quickly pulls the duvet back over his head, just as Eddie walks over to the bed and pulls the pillows off of the top of the pile. He tosses them aside ceremoniously, revealing what is very clearly a grown man wrapped up in a duvet, the fabric pulled taut over his head and toes as to keep himself fully shrouded. 

“Wow,” Eddie muses, wrapping his arms around Buck’s legs and pretending to tug him off the bed. “This blanket is super heavy. I’m gonna need backup. Special Agent Diaz?” 

“Roger that,” Chris says, crawling over to where Eddie is. He tries to pull Buck’s legs, but they don’t budge. “This is suspicious,” he says. 

Eddie laughs at that. “Agreed,” he says. “Let’s investigate.” He taps on Buck’s shin with his knuckle, then his thigh. His arm, his chest, and finally, his head. 

“C’mere,” he says to Christopher. “Check this out.” He knocks on Buck’s forehead once more. "Sounds... dense."

Buck can practically hear Eddie's smirk. He's certainly pleased with himself, that's for sure.

Chris taps on Buck’s head before yanking the blanket down. “Gotcha!” he shouts victoriously. “Nice try, Bucky.”

“No fair!” Buck protests, sitting up. His hair is all disheveled from his hiding spot, nothing but a mess of curls. He pouts, his long lashes fluttering as he looks between Chris and Eddie. He looks absolutely adorable. Eddie really,  _ really _ wants to kiss him. “Two against one.” 

“All’s fair in love and war,” Eddie says, grabbing one of the pillows from the foot of the bed and knocking Buck with it playfully. His hands are quick, grabbing the pillow from Eddie’s grip and swatting him with it in return. 

“Rematch?” Chris asks. “But this time I’ll be on your team, Bucky.” 

“Heck yeah,” Buck says, fist-bumping Christopher before looking up at Eddie. He raises an eyebrow. “You’re  _ so _ going down, Diaz.”


	17. the one where eddie's jealous again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [rebecca,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BSunsetTowers/pseuds/221BSunsetTowers) who suggested: "A new secret service agent is hired after Buck and Eddie come out, and makes the (obviously incorrect assumption) that Buck is “easy” or has a thing for secret service agents or something like that, and puts the moves on Buck. Cue jealous Eddie and completely in love with Eddie Buck putting the new guy in his place." 
> 
> here is my response, to the tune of 3k words! as the prompt suggests, this is set shortly after buck and eddie go public
> 
> rating: t  
> words: 2957

“Bobby’s shadow agent starts today,” Eddie says casually. Well, it’s a valiant attempt at casual, but falls a little too close to the  _ strangled _ side of the spectrum. He and Buck are walking down the main corridor of the West Wing, heading to the Oval Office so Buck can start his day. 

Buck doesn't have to say anything– the sudden change in his demeanor, the slight falter of his smile, the way his footsteps fall a little heavier beside Eddie says it all. 

“Play nice,” Eddie warns, his voice low as to not be overheard. 

Buck heaves an over-dramatic sigh. “I don’t need a new agent,” he protests. 

“We’ve been over this,” Eddie reminds him, his Dad Voice activated. “It’s not a new agent. He’s just shadowing for a little bit.”

Eddie had warned Buck of this upcoming development weeks ago, the second that news of it crossed his desk. He wanted to give him as much time to come around to the idea as possible before it became a reality. Eddie knew Buck wouldn’t be too thrilled having a third wheel with them, especially not so soon after going public. Sure enough, he was right. 

_ “What’s the point of telling everyone you’re my boyfriend if I can’t kiss you in the Oval?”  _

_ “Transparency? Honesty? Pride in yourself and your relationship?”  _

_ “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You’re going to have to make it up to me.”  _

_ The hint of a smirk crept on Eddie’s face. “That can be arranged.”  _

“Someone has to train the new guys,” Eddie points out.

“I get that,” Buck says. “But why can’t it be one of the Veep’s agents or something? Why does it have to be Bobby?”

“Because he’s great at it.” 

Buck pouts. He knows Eddie’s right– anyone would be lucky to learn from Bobby– but it doesn’t make him any more excited about the new addition to the team. Eddie can all but read his mind. “It’s one week. I bet you won’t even know he’s there.” 

“Trust me, I’ll know.” 

Buck is nothing short of a gentleman when Bobby and the new agent come through the Oval a little while later. It’s Eddie’s first time meeting the guy, too, and he’d be lying if he didn’t feel a little twinge of jealousy when he sees the guy’s piercing blue eyes light up, his effortless smile perfectly white as he shakes Buck’s hand, his biceps flexing beneath his shirt. 

“Special Agent Jordan Carter,” he says, voice deep and certain. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Buck says, shaking his hand. “Welcome to the White House. Thank you for your service.” 

The rest of the day passes fairly uneventfully. Bobby and Special Agent Carter leave a few minutes later, continuing their tour of the West Wing. They join Eddie, Buck, Hen, and Chim later as they head to the motorcade. 

The first thing Eddie notices is the way Carter winks at Buck when their eyes meet. Buck doesn’t react, either because he didn’t notice or didn’t care. He just glances over at Maddie and asks her for the list with the names of Marines he’ll be meeting at Quantico later. 

And then Carter’s hand lands on the small of Buck’s back as he gets into the back of the limo. Buck doesn’t react, just gets in and buckles his seatbelt without so much as a glance in Carter’s direction. Eddie, on the other hand, is running a cost-benefit analysis on chopping said hand off with the knife he keeps holstered to his left ankle. 

Buck’s indifference should quell the jealousy starting to gnaw at Eddie’s insides, but it doesn’t do much of anything. He sits and stews in it for the half hour it takes to get to Quantico, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he stares out the window. 

“Hey,” Buck says, glancing up from his phone. He knocks Eddie’s shoe with his own. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “Of course.”

Buck isn’t sure he’s buying it, but he brushes it aside for now– at least until he and Eddie have a moment alone later and he can get a better read on him. 

But then Eddie seems to be back to his normal self as Buck’s led around Quantico before meeting with the new class of Marines at The Basic School. Which definitely doesn’t have anything to do with Carter and Bobby staying back with the motorcade. 

What started out as a tiny spark of jealousy only turns bigger and fiercer as the days pass, until it’s a big green monster within him, ready to rear its head at a moment’s notice. It's almost funny, how Eddie's come to loathe Carter's presence so much when Buck was the one resisting the week-long addition to the team. Almost.

On the second day of Special Agent Carter’s shadowing, he gets to ride in the back of the limo while Bobby briefs him on the safety features and travel procedures. Eddie’s up front today, and when he glances back, he sees Carter sitting beside Buck, despite the empty seat beside Bobby opposite Buck. His eyes zero in on Carter’s knee mere centimeters from Buck’s, a speed bump or pothole the only thing between their thighs making contact. The thought alone has Eddie feeling a little bit homicidal. Not that he’d ever act on it, but if looks could kill, he’d without a doubt be serving twenty five to life.

Buck’s oblivious to it all. He’s busy looking over a piece of legislation, his eyes glued to the stack of papers as the car whizzes through D.C.. When Carter doesn’t budge upon glancing up and catching Eddie’s glare in the rearview, gone are any of Eddie’s doubts that it’s all been in his head. 

Eddie’s supposed to be off on Special Agent Carter’s third day with the Eagle team, so Buck is surprised to see him waiting outside the Residence doors when he starts his day. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited– as much as he loves knowing Eddie’s recharging and spending time with Chris, he always dreads his days off. 

“You’re here?” Buck asks, the hint of a smile playing on his face as he sees Eddie. “I thought you were off today.”

Eddie shrugs. “Chris is with Shannon until tomorrow night, so figured I’d make a little overtime.” 

Buck is a little skeptical– he’d have assumed Eddie would have jumped at the chance to sleep in. Especially since today’s as low-key as they come, with no appearances, interviews, trips, or scheduled White House visitors. As far as threats go, they're pretty much as non-existent as possible today. Buck thinks that of all days for Eddie to be off, today's pretty much perfect. And yet, he's here. “That all?” he asks. 

Eddie’s not about to tell Buck the reason he’s here on his day off is to keep tabs on the team’s overly-friendly new addition. And while he trusts Buck implicitly, completely, and unconditionally, the same can't be said for Carter. Eddie doesn't trust him as far as he can throw him. There's no way he's confessing that the thought of Carter's hand finding the small of Buck's back again had him up tossing and turning all night. He'd rather walk through fire than admit that he hardly enjoys the thought of Carter being out of his sight, that he was riddled with anxiety at the thought alone.

So instead, he just nods. 

The following night, Eddie glances up as Bobby and Carter come into the control room at the end of Bobby’s shift. “Date night?" he asks Bobby. 

Bobby nods, unclipping his radio from the back of his belt and pulling the wire from his ear. “Been looking forward to it all week,” he says with a smile, setting it down on the charging port. “Athena has been, too, so I’m not about to keep her waiting.”

“Smart man,” Eddie nods knowingly. 

“Would it be alright if I stay for a bit, Special Agent Nash?” Carter asks. 

Eddie, from where he sits in front of the monitor showing the camera in the Oval, can’t get the  _ no  _ out fast enough. But Bobby’s nod is quicker.

“Sure,” he says. “Head back up to the Oval and meet Special Agent Han. He’s here for another couple of hours. I’ll radio up and let him know you’re coming.”

Carter nods and steps out. If he can feel the daggers in the back of his skull coming from Eddie’s eyes, he doesn’t say anything. 

He arrives at the Oval a few minutes later, but he doesn’t see Chim. There are two agents outside the door who he recognizes from the other day, but no Chim. The door is open, so he pokes his head in. 

Buck is at his desk, engrossed in the same healthcare bill he’s been reading all week. It’s rare he has a day like today when he’s able to spend the majority of it in his office. The sun’s since gone down, but he’s on a roll. He plans to continue riding the momentum until he crashes or forgets how to read. And on page 416 of 580, the latter is starting to feel more likely with each passing minute. But he’s determined to read every word of it before he starts calling Senators and asking them to vote in favor.

“Special Agent Carter,” Buck says, eyes remaining fixed on the papers in front of him. “You lost?”

“No sir,” Carter says, stepping into the room properly. He puts his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels almost suggestively. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” 

Buck looks up at him and then back down without saying anything. He has a pit in his stomach all of a sudden– if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Carter was hitting on him. “Did you need something?” he asks. 

“Well, I was looking for Special Agent Han,” Carter says. “Though, frankly, I much prefer a moment alone with you.” 

Oh. Oh  _ no _ . Buck has to actively try to keep the look of unease off his face. 

“So, in the interest of seizing said moment,” Carter says, crossing the room confidently. He places his hands on the edge of Buck’s desk and leans in. He flashes a grin, eyes raking Buck up and down before he speaks. “I hope I’m not being too forward here–” 

Buck cuts him off. “You are.” 

He seems to falter a bit at that, as if he’s genuinely surprised at Buck’s response. If he is, he recovers quickly, saying, “You’re really not interested?”

“Correct.” 

“Don’t know why not,” Carter replies. “Seems to me I’m exactly your type.” 

Buck raises an eyebrow at that. “Oh really?” he asks as Eddie appears in the doorway, his jaw set firmly, lips pressed into a straight line. Buck makes eye contact with him over Carter’s shoulder and silently wills him to stay put. Carter’s yet to notice Eddie, who Buck can tell from a single glance should  _ not _ be allowed within swinging distance of any other human being right now, especially not Special Agent Carter. “And just what might that be?” 

Carter smirks, and Eddie wants nothing more than to storm in and smack it off his face. If not for a slight shake of Buck’s head, his version of a silent yet insistent  _ hold off _ , he’d already have the guy laid out on the floor. 

Buck cocks his head to the side expectantly. “No, really, I want to know.”

“Smart, fit,  _ Secret Service agent _ ,” Carter rattles off on his fingers, placing emphasis on the third item. “Seems to be what you’re into, but correct me if I’m wrong.”

If Eddie didn’t want to deck this guy before, he sure as hell does now. 

“You’re so far over the line,” Buck says simply. His face lacks any expression, devoid of emotion as he stands up from his desk. “That I’d need a magnifying glass to find it.”

Carter stands up a little straighter as it becomes crystal clear that Buck is neither interested nor entertained by this in the slightest. “I–” begins his attempt at a backpedal. 

Buck is having none of it, raising his hand to cut Carter off before he has a chance to dig himself into an even deeper hole. “The Secret Service,” Buck says. “Is an honorable, respectable organization. Hundreds of men and women have worked their asses off and made immeasurable sacrifices in pursuit of a snowflake’s chance in hell of standing where you do right now. And this is how you choose to behave?”

“Sir, I–”

“Oh, so  _ now _ you want to be respectful?” 

Carter shuts up immediately. 

“Your behavior is an embarrassment,” Buck continues. He catches Eddie’s eye and waves him in before turning back to Carter. “To me, to you, and to the upstanding men and women of the Secret Service who you represent.”

“Special Agent Diaz, I–” Carter begins as Eddie walks over. 

“Don’t,” Eddie says curtly. “Countless other agents would have stopped at nothing for the chance to shadow the Eagle team. You were here this week to do just that and to learn how to protect POTUS. And instead, you spent the last four days more concerned with flirting with the President than you were with keeping him safe.”

Buck’s chest swells with some combination of gratitude, love, and appreciation for this protective streak of Eddie’s that has a penchant for showing itself. 

“I was standing in the doorway for three minutes and sixteen seconds,” Eddie continues. “Three minutes and sixteen seconds and you didn’t turn your head once. Do you know how long it takes for a bullet to cross the Oval Office, Special Agent Carter?”

Carter just blinks. 

“That wasn’t rhetorical,” Eddie’s voice is cold, clipped. “Do you know?”

“Umm. A couple seconds?”    
“Two tenths of a second,” Eddie says. “And you had your back to the door for three minutes and sixteen seconds.” 

Chim and Hen walk in at that point. As they cross the room, Buck realizes that Eddie must have radioed for them before he came in himself.

“You’re dismissed, Special Agent Carter. You can expect a call from the director tomorrow, but until then, I’ll take your badge and gun. Special Agents Han and Wilson will escort you out.”

Carter looks stunned, but he places his badge and gun on the desk and lets Hen and Chim usher him towards the door. 

“Wait,” Buck blurts out upon realizing he isn’t finished saying his own piece yet. Everyone in the room turns to face him, though Eddie’s eyes never left. “Let me just clear something up. Eddie is smart, and fit, and a Secret Service Agent. You got that right. And he’s hot, too. That doesn’t hurt.” 

Carter opens his mouth to say something, but Buck cuts him off before he can. 

“But if he was none of those things, that would be cool too. Because he’s also kind. And he’s respectful, and funny. He’s a  _ terrible _ excuse for a cook. But he’s thoughtful, and loyal, and dependable. He makes me a better person. And he’s the single greatest father I’ve ever met. I love him for all those qualities, too.” He pauses a beat, letting his words sink in. And then, because he just can’t help himself, he adds, “None of which I’ve seen in you.” 

The tension in the room is so palpable it clings to the air. “The one thing he  _ does _ have is the audacity,” Hen mumbles, just loud enough for Chim to hear. He covers his snort of laughter with a cough. 

“You can go now, Special Agent Carter,” Buck says firmly. Hen and Chim lead him out without a second’s hesitation. 

“Sorry,” Buck says to Eddie as the door closes, leaving the two of them alone in the Oval. “I didn’t mean to put you-”

He’s cut off by Eddie’s kiss. 

It’s as if the second his lips touch Bucks’, he remembers they’re at work and certainly within view of the cameras in the Oval Office. He pulls back almost immediately, a hushed  _ sorry _ barely having crossed his lips when Buck gets a hand on his jaw. His fingers rest on the side of Eddie’s neck, his thumb brushing across Eddie’s bottom lip before they’re both surging forward, cameras be damned.

Their lips meet again, insistent and desperate and heavy. A punched-out breath escapes Buck’s lips as he tugs Eddie towards him, their bodies melding into one.

“You’re not mad?” Buck asks a moment later, his voice low.

“God, no,” Eddie says, his breath ghosting across Buck’s lips. Mad? Hell, he’s the furthest thing from it. In fact, he doesn’t know if there are enough words in the English language to accurately express the magnitude of love he’s feeling. So instead, he kisses Buck again and manages to get out, “You.. that…  _ no _ , I’m not mad.” 

“Good,” Buck says, his hands coming back to rest on the desk on either side of his thighs. Eddie steps into the space between his legs, his hands resting on Buck’s hips as their foreheads touch. “Although, if smart, fit, and Secret Service were the only boxes I was looking to check, I’d have gone for Chim.” 

“Mmhm,” Eddie hums against Buck’s lips. “Sure you would’ve.”

“Totally,” Buck insists, unable to keep the grin off his face. 

“Well I’ll be sure to let Maddie know,” Eddie replies. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“And why not?’

“‘Cause you love me.”

Eddie’s playful smile turns warm, softer than it was a moment before. The look in his eyes can only be described as reverent as he strokes Buck’s cheek with his thumb, his eyes alight. “Guilty.” 


	18. the one where christopher diaz is a national treasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy s4 premiere day!!!!! here's a little something for you to read as you wait for tonight (and hopefully join me in manifesting some chris/buck/eddie scenes) 
> 
> this is set 3 years into buck's presidency. it features the return of fbi director athena grant and of course, as the title suggests, the national treasure that is christopher diaz. i hope you enjoy ❤️
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 3248
> 
> tw: this chapter has mentions of light stalking/an obsessive fan (nothing "heavy" or graphic)

“Why didn’t you tell me I had a stalker?” Buck asks, walking out of his morning security briefing. 

“A what?” Eddie asks. Surely he heard him wrong. 

“A stalker,” Buck repeats. “Some guy the FBI flagged for posting creepy stuff about me in chatrooms. Or I guess it could be a girl. They don’t know yet.”

“What do you mean they don’t know yet?” Eddie all but demands. His heart is pumping a little faster in his chest, his blood feeling a little heavier in his veins as he processes Buck’s words. Buck, on the other hand, seems completely unbothered, the same energetic bounce in his step as they make their way to the Oval Office. He shrugs. “I don’t know. They said it came up last night and they’re tracing the source. They said the Secret Service knew. You really didn’t know?” 

Eddie’s blood is absolutely boiling at this point. “No,” he says, his tone clipped. “I didn’t know.”

Buck shrugs again as they reach the Oval, Eddie following him inside. “Well whoever it is, they’re in love with me and my 'enchanting nature' and 'breathtaking beauty,'” he says with a grin, making air quotes. 

For a multitude of reasons, Eddie is Not Amused. Number one being that his boss withheld this information, but someone out there posting things about Buck that are alarming enough to garner the attention of the FBI is a close second.

His gaze lingers on Buck just a second too long as he sits down and opens his laptop. “What?” Buck asks.

“Nothing,” Eddie says. “Just…” He sighs, uncrossing his arms and letting his hands rest on the desk. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name, in case you forgot.”

“Buck.” 

There’s something about the way Eddie sounds a little strangled– like he’s on the wrong side of defeat and it’s taking everything in him to keep it together– that has Buck’s demeanor switching almost immediately.

“Hey,” he says quietly, placing his hand on top of Eddie’s gently. He runs his thumb against Eddie’s knuckles, holding his gaze. “I promise,” he says earnestly. 

Within a few minutes, Eddie’s banished to the hallway outside the Oval after Buck declares his pacing to be “absolutely insufferable.” Now, he paces on the marble floor instead of the carpeted Presidential seal as the phone against his ear rings. 

“Athena,” Eddie says by way of greeting the second she answers the phone. “What’s this I hear about a stalker?” 

She laughs. “I was wondering why you weren’t busting down my door about that,” she says. “It’s about time.”

“I didn’t know,” Eddie says, sighing. “My director claims it was a clerical error that my team wasn’t informed. But that’s neither here nor there.”

“Mmhm,” Athena hums. “A clerical error.” she says dryly, clearly as unimpressed as Eddie is. “I don’t know about you, but I feel nothing but comfort knowing the fate of our country could be decided by a clerical error.”

“Don’t even get me started,” Eddie all but hisses. His anger at the situation is palpable at this point, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his side as he paces. 

“Oversights like that don’t happen at the FBI,” Athena mentions. “Just saying.”    
Eddie cant help but crack a smile at that. “Tell me what’s going on before you try to poach me, yeah?” 

“If you insist.”

Eddie doesn’t feel too much better after talking to Athena. Buck was right– they flagged a chatroom user the other day for some alarming posts, which were then followed by some questionable internet searches from the same IP address. There were countless posts about Buck– three of which were specifically dedicated to his eyes, smile, and body, respectively– each of which made Eddie’s blood pressure rise even more than the one before it. 

There was one where the writer spent a thousand words outlining their dream of meeting Buck in D.C., falling in love, and living out their days as “the President’s better half.” A minute after its posting, an internet search for trains from Baltimore to D.C. came from the same IP address.

It makes Eddie’s stomach turn, despite Athena’s repeated insistence that it’s under control. “There’s a team en route to the public library in Maryland where the IP is registered,” she says. “We’re on it, Eddie. I promise.” 

She calls back an hour later to tell Eddie they got the guy’s name, and are trying to track him down. It doesn't do much to calm the gnawing feeling in Eddie’s gut, but he thanks her anyway. 

Buck’s not scheduled to leave the White House until the following afternoon, when he’s supposed to throw out the opening pitch at the Nationals season opener. 

“Are you sure you want to go?” Maddie asks as they walk to the motorcade. Eddie’s glad someone else is asking– he’s pretty sure Buck was going to banish him again if he asked another time. “No one will judge you for staying put until this guy’s in custody.”

“Yeah,” Buck insists. “I’m not worried.”

“Buck–” Maddie begins. 

“It’s some guy with a crush and an internet connection,” Buck says, climbing into the car behind Maddie. “It’s not like he said anything violent or threatening. He seems to love me.” 

“Love makes people do crazy things,” Eddie reminds him, pulling the door shut. 

“Well, Reagan’s approval ratings were through the roof after he was shot,” Buck says, if only to get a rise out of Eddie. 

Eddie scowls as the car pulls away. 

“Come on, Eddie. You don’t think it’s even a  _ little  _ funny?” Buck asks. 

“Not while he’s still running around doing God knows what. Ask me again when he’s behind bars and you’re safe.”

Buck’s completely enamored of this protective streak of Eddie’s, not to mention wildly turned on. He rolls his eyes and tries to will away the flush creeping up his neck. 

“Alright Mr. President, we’re ready for you.” 

Buck stands up from the couch in the VIP lounge, clapping his hands together. “Let’s do this,” he says with a grin, turning to face the team’s publicist, who’s standing in the doorway. “How do I look?” 

He does a spin so everyone in the room can see his custom jersey at all angles, complete with BUCKLEY across the back. “Like a natural,” Maddie says. 

The publicist leads him out of the lounge. He’s trailed by Eddie, Bobby, Maddie, and a few members of the press as they make their way through a series of corridors to the private field entrance. Eddie’s head is on a swivel as they stand on the field. He doubled the Secret Service presence here tonight just to be safe, but he’s still eager to get Buck out of the open air and back inside the much more controlled environment that is the VIP lounge. 

Better yet would be back in the motorcade and straight to the safety of the White House, but Buck has insisted on staying for the entire game, just as he insisted on getting here early enough to greet the players before the first pitch. Buck’s commitment to seeing things through and his genuine love of connecting with the American people are just two of the many,  _ many  _ reasons Eddie loves him. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to drag Buck home to safety the second the ball leaves his hand. 

He throws a nearly perfect fastball, straight across the plate, the stadium erupting in cheers as it lands safely in the catcher’s glove. “Pay up,” Eddie whispers to Hen. The bet had started as soon as they heard Buck had been asked to throw the first pitch, with Chim and Hen insisting he’d never make it over the plate to the tune of $50. 

Eddie, however, has seen the pictures of Buck playing high school baseball in the old photo albums at Maddie’s house. He’s also been beside Buck on the couch on many a Saturday afternoon spent watching MLB games, sharing an amused look with Christopher as Buck yells at the players through the screen. Not to mention Eddie knows firsthand just how, ahem,  _ skilled  _ Buck’s hands are. 

So yeah, not only did he take the bet, but he raised them another fifty.

Buck waves at the crowd as he jogs off the field and over to where his team is waiting. As soon as they’re off the field and heading down the hallway to the VIP lounge, Eddie breathes a little easier. Eddie and Hen are walking just ahead of Buck, Chim and Bobby behind him as they make their way back. As they turn the corner, a stadium employee walks out of the lounge. 

He turns to face them, and despite being on the other end of the hallway, Eddie realizes he’s not one of the employees from before. In fact, he doesn’t recognize the guy from the list of VIP employees provided to the Secret Service at all. 

As he opens his mouth to say something, the guy starts running at them. Eddie immediately shouts “Stop!”  When he doesn’t, Eddie starts running towards him, tackling him to the ground. 

“Evan!” the guy shouts, looking around frantically, his chest pressed into the floor as Eddie’s knee digs into his back. Eddie reaches for his cuffs on the back of his belt as Bobby kneels down beside him, shouting commands into his radio. 

Eddie looks around for Buck, breathing a little easier when he sees Hen and Chim ushering him away. 

“Evan, I love you! Please!” the guy calls.

“Shut up,” Eddie hisses. Despite the adrenaline coursing through him, his hands are still and steady as he secures the cuffs around the guy's wrists and hauls him to his feet. Two other agents jog up to them just then, followed by a handful of D.C. police officers. Eddie and Bobby follow them out, where the guy is put in the back of a squad car before the officers take Bobby and Eddie's statements. 

After they're finished, Eddie walks over to the squad car. He opens the door to the backseat, dropping down to the guy's level.  "You ever even think of  coming near him again and  _ this _ ,” Eddie practically growls, pointing to himself. “Will be the last face you ever see.” 

The guy opens his mouth to say something, but Eddie slams the door closed, tapping the back of the car twice. The cop up front pulls away, and Eddie's breath comes a little easier. Bobby comes over and claps him on the shoulder.  Eddie takes a deep breath, the adrenaline catching up to him as his body starts to relax.

“Hen, Hen, Eddie,” he says into his radio. “Where are you guys?”

“GM’s office,” comes her reply. “Second door on the left, closest to the field entrance.”

“Roger,” Eddie says. “Bobby and I are coming.”

“Roger that.”

They get to the office a moment later, where Chim is standing outside the door with his hand on the gun holstered to his belt. “We good?” he asks Eddie and Bobby. They nod. 

“PD has him now,” Bobby says. “Motorcade’s ready when we are.”

Hen, Buck, and Maddie are inside the office, their conversation stopping as the door swings open. Eddie stops in the doorway, his hand still on the door handle as his eyes meet Buck’s from across the room. Hen and Maddie, bless them, make a quick exit as Eddie steps forward, letting the door swing shut. 

“Are you okay?” they ask at the same time. When they’re both met with a nod from the other, Buck practically launches himself at Eddie. He presses a kiss to Eddie’s jaw as he buries his face in his neck, wrapping his arms around his waist and all but melting into him.

Eddie lets go of the breath he’s been holding since yesterday morning as his arms wrap around Buck’s shoulders, pulling him in as close as possible. He takes a long, deep breath, the familiar smell of Buck’s shampoo and the weight of his head on Eddie’s shoulder instantly grounding. 

“So,” Buck says, his warm breath tickling the side of Eddie’s neck. “Is it funny now?” 

“I hate you,” he says. 

“You love me,” Buck corrects.

Eddie presses a kiss to Buck’s temple, his lips curling into a smile as he does. “I do,” he agrees.

“Athena said he already started talking,” Bobby says as the motorcade pulls back up to the White House a half hour later. “Apparently he snuck in yesterday and stole a uniform. Hid in the locker room last night and was waiting for Buck to come off the field.”

“Damn,” Hen says shaking her head as they head inside. “That’s commitment.”

“I’m worth it,” Buck chimes in. Eddie’s about to reply when he notices Buck’s not putting any weight on his left foot. 

“Stop,” he says quietly, placing a hand on Buck’s bicep gently. “What’s wrong with your ankle?” he asks. 

“I must’ve rolled it in all the commotion,” he says. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s not fine,” Eddie insists. The adrenaline from the stadium must’ve blocked the pain, because Buck was walking fine there– but still, Eddie’s kicking himself for not noticing sooner. “You can’t walk on it.”

Buck shrugs. “I’ll ice it and take a couple Advil when I get upstairs and it’ll be fine in the morning.” 

One look at Eddie’s face is enough to tell Buck that is most definitely Not Happening. Which is how he finds himself with a pair of crutches and an ankle brace twenty minutes later. 

“Pretty bad” are the words the White House physician uses to describe the sprain Buck sustained. Which, coincidentally, are the words Buck had used to describe the pain when she asked. Eddie’s heart sank as Buck said it, the guilt eating at him. 

Eddie had looked on from the side of the room, standing at the door with his arms folded across his chest as they waited nervously to find out if it was broken. The relief when the X-ray came back clean of any breaks– much like the discontent when she announced he’d be on crutches for two weeks– was shared by Buck and Eddie.

“You’re going to need to take it easy, Mr. President,” she says, grabbing her bag from the desk. She looks around the Oval Office before meeting Buck’s eyes. “Take the weekend off. It’ll be a couple days until the swelling goes down, so try to stay off it as much as you can. I’ll check in with you on Monday.”

“You got it,” Buck says. “Thank you.”

As the door closes behind her, Eddie walks over and helps Buck up off the couch. “C’mon,” he says. 

“What?” Buck asks, confused. “Where to? It’s only six.”

“You heard her,” Eddie says, snaking his arm under Buck’s shoulders. “You’re taking the weekend off.”

“Eddie–”

Eddie shakes his head, making it abundantly clear that this isn’t up for discussion. “Doctor’s orders.” 

Buck doesn't say anything, just leans into him, immediate relief washing over him as the weight comes off his ankle. Eddie takes Buck’s crutches in his hand, instead letting Buck lean on him as he leads him out through the garden. “Where are we going?” Buck asks as he realizes they’re taking the shortcut to the garage. 

They pull up to Eddie’s ten minutes later, Hen and Chim following in their own car and stationing themselves outside Eddie’s front door. Buck doesn’t even complain when Eddie carries him bridal-style up the stairs. In fact, he buries his face in Eddie’s neck, letting his eyelashes flutter shut as he relishes in the pure, unadulterated safety he feels in Eddie’s arms. 

Once he’s changed into a pair of sweatpants and one of Eddie’s old t-shirts, he’s asleep on the couch before Eddie has a chance to pull the blanket up under his chin.

He wakes up a half hour later to the couch shifting beside him. “Careful,” Eddie whispers. “Don’t wake him. He needs his rest.”

“I won’t.” 

Buck would know that voice anywhere. A sleepy smile spreads across his face. “Is that my favorite little man?” he asks, eyes blinking open.

“Sorry, Bucky,” Chris whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“You didn’t,” Buck says, sitting up. “It was your dad’s sad attempt at cooking.” 

“Hey!” Eddie chimes in from the kitchen, where he’s somehow managed to burn a pot of boiling water. 

Chris laughs, throwing his arms around Buck. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” he says. 

Buck’s heart absolutely melts. “It’s okay,” he replies, tousling Christopher’s hair. “It doesn’t hurt too bad. Plus, it means I get to hang out with you all weekend.”

“You do?” 

Buck nods, sliding over as Eddie walks in and drops onto the couch beside them. “You bet. I might just have to get hurt every week, if this is what it gets me. Minus your dad’s cooking, though.” 

That earns him an elbow in the ribs from Eddie, who announces that he ordered pizza anyway.

“Are those your crutches, Bucky?” Chris asks a moment later, pointing towards where they’re resting against the wall. 

“Yep,” Buck says. “You just make them look so cool, I couldn’t help it. I wanted some for myself.”

Chris beams. “Really?”

Buck nods. “Did you know I’ve never had crutches before? You’re gonna have to show me the ropes. Deal?”

“Deal,” Christopher giggles. He stands up. “Hold on, Bucky. Don’t go anywhere,” he instructs. 

Buck does as he’s told, glancing over at Eddie for an explanation. Eddie shrugs, just as confused as Buck is. 

Chris returns a moment later with his container of craft supplies. “When I got my crutches for the first time, Daddy decorated them.”

If Buck didn’t think he was going to melt before, he sure as hell is now, especially when he catches the way Eddie looks down and the flush that creeps onto his cheeks. “Really?” he asks. 

Christopher nods. “Really,” he says. “He painted them red and black and then he put Batman and Spiderman stickers all over. So that I could remember I’m a superhero, too”

That may be the sweetest thing Buck’s ever heard in his life. He needs a second to recover, just a quick moment to beg his bones and organs to keep their shape and refrain from melting into a puddle on Eddie’s couch.

He takes Eddie’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.

“We have to give you superhero crutches, too,” Christopher says, taking the lid off of the container and pulling out supplies. Eddie laughs, warm and deep, his eyes shining as he looks between his boys. Buck’s smile reaches his ears. 

“This is quite the upgrade,” the White House doctor muses, nodding towards where Buck’s crutches rest against the side of his desk. They're painted red white and blue, with gold and silver star stickers all up and down the metal. 

He laughs, looking over the top of her head at Eddie on the other side of the room. He winks. “Well, Doc, in my defense, they were very boring.” 

“That they were,” she says, slipping Buck’s brace back on and tugging the velcro straps shut. “These are much more patriotic." 

"I think so, too," he agrees. 

"Well, it’s looking good,” she says, standing up. “I can tell you listened and stayed off it this weekend. I assume they took good care of you around here?”

Buck smiles. “Oh, you have no idea.” 


	19. the one where buck is not christopher's dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you didn't really think i'd let inauguration day pass without an update to this verse, did you?! :D  
> admittedly it's not an inauguration-centric chapter, but still! i'm working my way through old prompts- this one came from a conversation i had in the comments with [tcs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcs/pseuds/tcs) a couple months ago about a teenage chris hitting buck with the "you're not my dad!" line. <3
> 
> set 2 years after buck leaves office, chris is 16  
> rating: g  
> word count: 1913

“You can ask as many times as you want, but the answer is still no.” 

“Why?” Chris practically whines. 

“Because I said so,” Buck says. 

As he dumps the box of pasta into the boiling water and gives it a stir, he wonders what his favorite nanny Martha would say if she saw him now. Cooking dinner on a Tuesday night and working his way right down the list of teenage parent one-liners. As much as he adored Martha, he spent many nights as a kid swearing up and down he’d never use the same lines she used on him. But life has a funny way of working out. 

He turns down the heat on the burner and puts the spoon down beside it. Turning to face Christopher, his voice softens. “But more importantly, because it’s dangerous. And I love you way too much to let you put yourself in danger.”

“Buck,” Chris groans. Despite recalling swinging low himself in many of the arguments he had with Martha and his other nannies as a kid, Buck still feels a little twinge of hurt when Chris doesn’t add the  _ y _ to the end of his name. “You don’t get it.”

“I get it more than anyone,” Buck reminds him. “Not being able to do things in the name of safety is pretty much how I spent the last ten years of my life.” 

Christopher pauses, knowing full well that he can’t really argue with Buck there.  “Well, you’re not even my dad,” he says, the words cutting through Buck with the sear of a marksman’s blade. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

The hiss of the water boiling over the edge of the pot serves as a distraction from the hot tears pricking at the back of Buck's eyes. He blinks them back as he stirs the pasta until the bubbles die down. When he turns around, he expects to see Chris but is instead met with the slam of his bedroom door. 

He lets out a whole-body sigh, the ache in his chest all but consuming him as Christopher’s words play over in his head. 

“I don’t know what that was about,” Eddie’s voice pulls Buck out of his thoughts as he walks into the kitchen. “But if he slams that door again, I’m going to take it off the hinges." He presses a kiss to Buck's cheek as he passes him on his way to place his empty coffee mug in the sink. "Although if I do that, how else will our son make sure we don’t forget he’s a teenager?” 

Buck sighs, unsure of where to even begin. “ _ Your _ son, if you ask him.” 

Eddie pauses, catching the look in Buck’s eyes. The smile drops off his face immediately, replaced with concern. “What?”

Buck shrugs, turning back to the pot on the stove. He tells himself it’s because it needs to be strained when really, it’s because he knows if he looks at Eddie a second longer he’ll start crying. “He reminded me I’m not his dad,” he says, his voice wavering as he dumps the pot in the sink over the waiting colander. “And that he doesn’t have to listen to me.” 

“You know that’s not true,” Eddie says. 

Buck shrugs. And then his shoulders crumple. His fingers grip the edge of the sink as he inhales a long, shaky breath through his nose in an attempt to hold it together. And then Eddie’s arms are around his middle, his fingers gently prying Buck’s away from where they’re white-knuckled against the porcelain. 

“Evan.” Eddie’s voice is low and insistent in Buck’s ear. It’s instantly grounding, something for Buck to hold onto as he pulls himself out of the emotional pit threatening to consume him. “Hey. Look at me.” 

Buck does, turning in Eddie’s arms to face him. “I mean, he’s right,” Buck says. “I'm not his dad.”

“You’re more than that,” Eddie says. “So much more.” His hands come up to Buck’s face, reverence in his eyes as he holds Buck’s gaze. “You’re his parent, and his friend, and one of his favorite people on the planet. You’re his role model and his confidante and his touchstone when things get hard and scary. That kid trusts you with his life and he loves you more than either of us could have ever imagined. And then some.”

Eddie’s words mend the gash left behind by Christopher’s words, until all that’s left is a dull ache. Buck knows every word of what Eddie’s saying is true, because it’s all mutual– the kid’s got a permanent hold on Buck’s heart. He finds himself looking up to Chris daily and he loves him more than he ever thought humanly possible, teenage angst and all. Not to mention, he’s at the very top of Buck’s list of favorite people, in a three-way tie for the number one spot with Eddie and Maddie. Two-way when Eddie steals the blankets in the middle of the night. 

Buck’s eyelashes flutter shut as Eddie’s lips brush against his forehead, pressing a kiss to his furrowed brow. The tenderness and unspoken adoration behind it is enough to soothe the worry lines, to ebb away what’s left of the ache in his chest.

“Anyone can be a dad, baby. It takes something really special to be what you are to him.”

Eddie’s gentle knock on Christopher’s door, while met with silence, isn’t followed by a “Go away!” like it has been so many times before in Christopher’s sixteenth year of life. He takes that as an invitation to poke his head in. 

“Hey,” he says. Light from the hallway pours into the otherwise dark room, where Chris is laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Eddie remembers when they were first building the house– Chris was just thirteen then and completely fascinated with space. Buck had ordered special glow in the dark stars and planets off the internet, waiting like a kid on Christmas Eve for them to come in the mail. When they arrived, he was so excited that he cleared his day and took Air Force One up to New York for the afternoon, where he spent three hours making a scaled replica of the solar system on the ceiling above Christopher’s bed. 

Buck nearly fell off the ladder half a dozen times, which happened to be the same amount of times he had Eddie measure the distance between each of the stickers to make sure it was all to scale. But it was all worth it when Chris saw it for the first time, his eyes aglow with some combination of wonder and awe. 

“Hi,” Chris mumbles. Eddie can tell from the look on his face that he knows he messed up. 

“I heard what you said,” Eddie says. 

“I’m sorry, Dad.” 

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.” 

“I know.”

“Do you really believe that?” Eddie asks. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer– this is the same kid who used to wish on his birthday candles that Buck could be his dad, after all. 

“No,” Chris says quickly. “I love Buck. He’s always felt like my dad. I just got so mad.” 

Eddie nods. "I know, mijo. I used to feel like that with my dad sometimes. But it never made me feel better, hurting him. Just worse."

"I feel worse," Chris admits. "A lot worse. I shouldn't have said it."

"Well, we agree on that," Eddie says, taking a deep breath and patting Chris on the shin. "You want to tell me what happened?” 

“I wanted to go snowmobiling with my friends tonight and Buck said no.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Snowmobiling,” he repeats. “At night. In the middle of a blizzard.”

“Everyone was going to,” Chris says dejectedly. “It’s not like I was going to drive one.”

Eddie’s glad Chris has the self-awareness on that aspect, but still– snowmobiling in the dark in the middle of a blizzard is far from the smartest thing he and his friends have come up with. Not to mention, the roads to get up the mountain are pitch black and iced over at this point in the day. “I can guarantee you that everyone else’s parents will also say no.” 

“They already did,” Chris admits. He pauses for a second before calling out, “Bucky?” 

Buck’s heart trips over itself at the sound of Christopher’s special name for him. He appears in the doorway a moment later. 

“I’m really sorry,” Chris says, sitting up.  “I didn’t mean it.” 

“I know, bud,” Buck says, coming in and sitting beside Eddie on the edge of the mattress. “I might not be your dad, but I love you, Chris. So much that I can’t let you do dangerous things. And sometimes that might make me the bad guy. Which I’m fine with, if it means it keeps you safe.”

Buck continues, “You’re my priority. From the first day I met you, all I’ve ever wanted is to see you safe and happy. But safe comes first."

Buck’s explanation has Eddie’s heart feeling like it’s splitting open. He thinks back to the early days in D.C., before he met Buck– he and Shannon had recently split and he was working long hours, going on terrible dates, and was convinced he’d never find anyone who could love Chris even a fraction as much as he deserves. And then, along came Buck, whose unconditional, enduring love for Christopher continues to push at the seams of the dreams Eddie once thought unattainable.

"Besides," Buck says. "If you're not here, who else is going to gang up on your dad with me? Chim has proven useless, the traitor.” 

Chris giggles. He leans forward and wraps his arms around Buck, his head coming to rest on his shoulder. 

Buck holds him tight against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you, bud.”

“I love you too, Bucky. I’m sorry.” 

“I know you are,” Buck says. He moves to sit beside Chris, nudging his shoulder gently. “Scoot over.” 

Chris does as he’s asked, making enough room that Buck can lay his head down on the pillow. Chris lays down beside him, resting his head on Buck’s chest just like he used to when he was younger. 

The timer goes off in the kitchen, Eddie standing up to go turn off the oven. When he comes back a minute later, the two of them are staring up at the glow in the dark galaxy on the ceiling, pointing at different clusters of stars and whispering about them to one another. He leans against the door frame, watching the two of them with a smile on his face. With Chris being sixteen and too cool for his dads most of the time, moments like these ones are rare– not to mention fleeting when they do happen. Eddie’s perfectly content to stand here and drink this one in as long as he can. 

“What are you smiling about, Special Agent Diaz?” Buck asks after a minute, catching Eddie’s eye. 

“Nothing.”

“Mmhm,” Buck hums. “C’mere.”

Eddie sighs contentedly as he joins his boys, laying beside Buck and looking up at the stars. Christopher’s hushed voice as he names each of Neptune’s moons, mingled with the soothing, steady beat of Buck’s heart provides the soundtrack for what Eddie’s sure will be a memory he hangs onto for the rest of his life. 


	20. the one with christopher's family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for breaking so many hearts with the last chapter! i'm here to redeem myself with some tooth rotting diaz-buckley family fluff 
> 
> this started out as an expansion of a conversation i had with [claire33333](https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire33333/pseuds/claire33333) in the comments a while ago about how buck and eddie would respond to being asked if they were having more kids. and then it kind of got away from me and turned into family feels <3
> 
> set 5 years into buck's presidency
> 
> rating: m  
> word count: 3059

“Eddie.” Buck glances up from his desk. “Eds. Eddie. Earth to Special Agent Diaz.” 

“What?” Eddie asks, turning to face Buck, who’s got one eyebrow raised. It’s then, snapping back to reality and coming out of his thoughts, that he realizes he’s bouncing his knee so quickly that the end table beside him is shaking. “Oh, sorry.” 

“You okay?” Buck asks, crossing the room and dropping onto the couch beside him. While Buck’s always had a love-hate relationship with Air Force One, he’s eternally grateful to its spacious floor plan that allows him to be alone with Eddie as they reach cruising altitude. “I’m supposed to be the nervous flier.”

Eddie swallows around the lump in his throat, nodding. “Yeah,” he insists. Buck’s hand comes to rest on his knee.

“Eddie,” he says simply. Two syllables are all he needs to convey that he’s Not Buying It. “Talk to me.”

Eddie sighs, thinking back to the events of the morning. They’d left D.C. at dawn to fly up to Canada, staying long enough for Buck to meet with the Prime Minister, visit his old sleep away camp, and send Maddie to the Tim Horton’s drive through for a double double and some Timbits. They would’ve stayed longer, if not for the art show at Christopher’s school tonight, which Buck would sooner chew glass than miss. 

Buck was all smiles as they walked around the camp, all but jumping out of the car the second they pulled up and he saw the camp director waiting at the gate. “Sharon!” he called out excitedly, wrapping her in a huge hug and introducing her to Eddie with a smile equal parts proud and nervous. 

By the time all the cars emptied out, there was a big group of them– Buck and Maddie, Eddie and the core team, another half dozen agents, a few aides and advisors, and the White House photographer– and Buck couldn’t have been more excited to show off his second home. He practically gave the tour himself– while Sharon showed off the boating dock and archery course, Buck pointed out the tree behind which he had his first kiss and regaled everyone with the story of the time his bunk put a fish they found in the lake in the dining hall water cooler. 

They were walking around the dining hall, looking at the framed pictures of campers lining the walls, when Buck had turned to Sharon. “I can’t believe you’re still here.” 

She shrugged, smiling fondly as her fingers brushed the bottom of one of the frames. “Well, I tried to retire a few years back, but I only made it a few days. I missed the kids too much.” 

“Doesn’t hurt that you’re the best camp director this place has ever seen,” Buck said. “There’s never been a kid to come through this gate who hasn’t loved you.”

“Speaking of kids,” Sharon said. “When can we expect a continuation of the Buckley legacy? I’m dying to meet your Christopher. ” 

“Well, he’s been begging to come ever since he first heard Buck’s stories,” Eddie said. “Although  _ someone _ doesn’t think he’s ready yet.” He nudged Buck’s shoulder affectionately. 

“It’s a long way from home!” Buck protested. 

Sharon patted his shoulder. “Well, it was always easier for you having Maddie here. When are you two planning on having a second?”

Eddie laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, we’re not.” 

“All the more reason for Chris to come up for the summer!” Sharon said. “The bond these kids have with one another is incredible. He’ll come as an only child and leave with brothers and sisters from around the world.” 

Buck laughed, but there wasn’t much heart behind it. When he turned to point out a picture of the time he won first place on the ropes course, Eddie noticed the light was gone from his eyes. Buck’s warm, sparkly, infectious smile that Eddie had come to know better than his own was gone, replaced with a purely diplomatic one. 

Instinctively, Eddie took a step closer to Buck. He leaned in a little closer than he had before, their pinkies brushing up against one another. When Buck’s face didn’t move, when his shoulders didn’t relax and the tight edge to his smile didn’t ease, Eddie’s stomach flipped. Something was wrong. 

“You okay?” he whispered to Buck as the group made their way outside. Buck had just nodded, accompanied by a tight-lipped smile that didn’t do much to convince Eddie of anything. 

He replayed the events leading up to the shift in Buck’s demeanor as they thanked Sharon and headed back to the gate where the caravan of cars was waiting to take them back to Air Force One. As Eddie realized the metaphorical switch flipped as soon as he mentioned they weren’t planning for more kids, the pit in his stomach grew tenfold.

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _

Eddie needed to talk to Buck. He tried to catch him on the way to the car, but the White House photographer was snapping pictures. And then Maddie and Hen rode with them while Bobby drove, which made it far too full of a house for Eddie to bring it up, no matter how much he longed to. 

As soon as they got on the plane, Buck had to take a call in his office. He motioned for Eddie to follow him in, just like he had so many times before. Despite the smile on his face as he saluted the Marine at the door as he boarded and the polite laugh as he shook hands with the pilot, Buck still wasn’t himself. It was glaringly obvious to Eddie, and with each passing minute absent of the spark in Buck’s eyes, the uneasiness gnawing at him only intensified. 

“Eddie. Talk to me.” 

“Do you want more kids?” Eddie blurts out. 

Buck’s not sure what exactly he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that. He blinks twice. “W-what?”

“Y’know,” Eddie mumbles. He buries his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. “I guess we never really talked about it. I just… you weren’t yourself after Sharon brought it up today.”

Buck sighs. Eddie noticed. Of course he did. 

“And I was so quick to say no.” Eddie’s shaking his head, some combination of guilt and self-loathing and regret written across his face. “I didn’t even think… I just... we never talked about it. This isn’t how we’re supposed to have this conversation.”

“We never talked about it because we didn’t need to,” Buck says cautiously, the end of his sentence ticking up, almost as if Eddie’s words have suddenly made him unsure of his own. It had never really been a question for him– his heart, already having doubled in size since the day he met Eddie, instantly felt complete the moment he met Christopher. 

Eddie just blinks. 

“Eddie,” Buck says. “I don’t want more kids.” 

“You don’t?” Eddie asks. 

Buck shakes his head, taking Eddie’s hands in his own. “I have everything I need and more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just makes a soft noise in the back of his throat as Buck’s thumb runs across his knuckles. “The most perfect kid in the world is waiting for us in Washington,” Buck points out. “And I’m sitting beside the strongest,” he drops a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Most incredible.” A kiss on his nose. “Loving man I’ve ever known.” 

Three unspoken words cling to the air between them as Buck’s lips ghost across Eddie’s, sure yet gentle. Eddie instantly relaxes into Buck’s touch. And yet, he can’t shake the way the light in Buck’s eyes went out this afternoon, how he stood a little straighter, his smile a little duller. “You were upset,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Buck nods. Of course he was upset. How could he not be, when Sharon basically assumed their family wasn’t complete? “The unspoken assumption that Chris isn’t enough for me – for us– it makes me crazy, is all. I wanted to tell her to fuck off, but you beat me to it, though not in so many words.” 

The weight Eddie’s been carrying around melts away in an instant, replaced with a fierce wave of adoration. When Sharon had mentioned a second kid earlier, Eddie was instantly offended. Because how dare anyone insinuate his life is anything less than one thousand percent full? That there’s any room left in his heart that Chris and Buck aren’t already occupying? When the fact of it is, his heart’s been well past maximum capacity from the moment he saw Chris and Buck together for the first time. It’s been all but bursting at the seams each day since.

And for Buck to have felt the same thing today, that same irritation at Sharon’s assumption, coupled with a desire to defend their perfect family– well, it’s got Eddie’s heart pounding a little harder in his chest. 

“Me too,” Eddie admits. 

“All that I have,” Buck says, his hand coming to rest on the side of Eddie’s face, his thumb running over his cheekbone as he speaks. The light in his eyes is back, the corners of his mouth twitching up into the beginnings of that familiar smile Eddie’s spent the afternoon longing for. “All that you two are? It’s all that I’ll ever need.”

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. And then Buck’s hand is sliding to the back of Eddie’s neck, his head tipping down and their lips meeting. It’s deep and fervent and hungry, more urgent than before, their lips heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

Buck is lost in the feel of Eddie beneath him, in the heat rising to his chest and the buzz beneath his skin. It’s familiar in a way that instantly grounds him, yet somehow, after all this time, still as exhilarating and intoxicating as the first time they touched. It’s the thrill of an adventure and the comfort of coming home at the same time. It's a high that Buck doesn’t think he’ll ever stop chasing. 

He hums against Eddie’s lips, runs his fingers down his sides. And Eddie. Well, Eddie’s floating, all gravity gone from the room beneath Buck’s touch.  By the time he’s become aware of his body again, his fingers are tugging at the hem of Buck’s shirt and slipping beneath the fabric. The sear of Buck’s skin beneath his fingertips is electrifying, a warm rush coming over him until he’s all but covered in it.

“Eddie,” Buck all but whines as Eddie’s hands splay out across the small of his back, drawing him in even closer. “Please.” 

He leans back, breaking the kiss long enough to shrug his suit jacket off and toss it onto the ground. Eddie takes advantage of the access to Buck’s waist, yanking the rest of his shirt out from where it’s still tucked into his pants. 

Buck takes Eddie’s face in his hands, a searing kiss between them as Eddie’s fingers fumble for Buck’s belt. 

“Wait,” Eddie says, stilling all of a sudden. “What is that?”

Buck freezes, still straddling Eddie’s lap. Though muffled, Buck recognizes the sound immediately. He scrambles to stand up, crossing the small room as Eddie asks, “Is that the Harry Potter theme song?”

Buck nods, grabbing his phone from the desk. “Chris?” 

“Bucky!” 

Buck’s face lights up, his kiss-swollen lips spreading into a broad smile. Eddie can’t help but grin himself, between the sound of Christopher’s voice coming through the phone and the way it brought forth a wave of excitement just short of palpable from Buck. 

“Hey!” he exclaims. “Your new ringtone worked.”

“Is it awesome?”

“Beyond awesome,” Buck confirms. “Everything good there?”

“Yeah. Carla says hi.”

Eddie feels a little twinge of guilt at the way he finds himself wanting to rush Chris off the phone. He blames Buck, who’s leaning back against his desk and looking like he’s ready to be wrecked in the very best way. The lust-blown pupils and kiss-swollen lips are bad enough, but between that and the tousled hair, disheveled shirt, and unbuckled belt hanging off his hips, it’s taking every bit of self-restraint Eddie has not to hang up on his own kid and finish what they started.  “Hi, Carla!” Buck calls into the phone, assuming she’s close enough to hear. “Chris, your dad’s here. Let me put you on speaker.” 

“Hi, Dad.” 

Eddie’s face lights up. “Hey, bud. Did you finish your art project?” 

“Yep. Are you going to see it tonight?” 

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Buck reassures him. 

Eddie looks up, meeting Buck’s eyes and smiling softly. From Christopher’s first mention of the art show, Buck put it on his calendar. Eddie and Bobby got to work planning the necessary security measures, Eddie having known better than to waste his breath reminding Buck he wasn’t expected to attend, what with being the leader of the free world and all. Buck would’ve just shrugged him off, looked at him in bewilderment like he did when Chris was in the school musical last year and Eddie asked if he really wanted to sit through the fifth-grade production of Hairspray. “Of course I do,” he had replied, as if Eddie were the crazy one. “Next question.”

Eddie anticipates this would have gone about the same way, had he raised any questions or offered any outs. So instead, he busied himself with preparing the motorcade route and agent assignments, astutely aware of the fact that if he stopped long enough to think about Buck’s inherent dedication to showing up for Chris, his chest very well might have split open. 

“You’re gonna like it,” Christopher says, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts. 

“Can we get a hint?” Eddie asks. 

Chris giggles. “Nope. It’s a surprise.” 

“I bet Carla will tell us,” Buck teases. 

“Carla is sworn to secrecy,” Carla chimes in from the other end of the phone. “But he’s right. You’re going to like it.”

“Of course we will,” Eddie says. “We’ve got the most talented kid in Washington. Don’t we, Buck?”

Buck’s chest squeezes, unable to keep the smile off his face as he meets Eddie’s eyes. They share a knowing look as Buck says, “We sure do.”

“We need to go if we’re going to drop it off in time,” Carla says, that all-knowing tone to her voice. Buck is always grateful for Carla, but especially right now, when all he wants to do is lock the door to his airplane office and make sure Eddie knows just how much his words mean to him. One day, Buck will learn how she always seems to know exactly when he and Eddie are having a moment, even without being in the same room– or atmospheric layer– as they are. But today is not that day. 

As soon as they’ve said goodbye, Buck sets his phone back down on the desk, making a point to shut the ringer off and leave it face-down. “I love you,” he breathes, stepping forward. His hands come to rest on Eddie’s hips, their foreheads touching as the words hang in the air between them. 

He walks Eddie backwards until he’s pressed up against the door to the office. His lips brush against Eddie’s earlobe as he reaches around him to flip the lock on the door handle. Eddie tips his head back, his breath catching in his throat as Buck nips at the tender skin. “Are we bad parents?” he asks between shaky breaths. “Rushing our kid off the phone so we- oh my  _ god _ .” His brain short-circuits as Buck’s teeth drag against the hollow of his throat before curling into a smile. 

“Maybe,” Buck murmurs, his voice low in Eddie’s ear. “But that’s just going to have to be our cross to bear.” 

Eddie’s eyes are no longer brown, the irises having been swallowed up by jet-black black pools of desire. His heart pounds in his chest as he walks Buck forward until the back of his knees hit the couch. When they do, he drops down onto the leather cushions, tugging Eddie down with him. 

Eddie grins. “I can handle that.”

Despite Christopher’s school having Fort Knox-level security to begin with and the addition of half a dozen agents and two snipers on the roof, Eddie’s still a little bit on edge, as he always is when Buck’s out in public. The room is bustling around them, conversations filling the space as other families make their way around and look at the various sculptures, paintings, and sketches. But it all fades away as Chris steps to the side and reveals the wooden frame hanging on the gymnasium wall behind him. 

“Do you like it?” he asks. In the frame beside him is a watercolor painting of the American flag. In front of it, there are three silhouettes, two big and one small, all holding hands. Each one has been cut out of a paper on which Chris hand-wrote Buck’s inauguration speech. “It’s us. Carla helped me cut them out.” 

If there are words capable of describing the crushing weight of the love and appreciation and pride swirling around in Buck’s chest right now, he certainly can’t find them. He nods, looking over at Eddie. His eyes are shining, his own pride radiating in waves so thick Buck can practically smell it. 

“It’s amazing, Chris,” Buck says, dropping down to Christopher’s level and wrapping him in a hug. 

“Bud, this is incredible,” Eddie agrees, tousling his hair. It’s the understatement of the century, but Eddie isn’t quite sure there are enough words in all the languages in the world combined to describe this. 

Christopher beams as Buck steps forward to get a better look, running his fingers over the glass frame protecting the artwork. Something about seeing his own words in Christopher’s eleven-year-old handwriting has left him with wet eyes and a lump in his throat. 

He feels the familiar brush of Eddie’s pinky against his own and immediately laces their fingers together. With Chris on his other side, his head resting against Buck’s side as he wraps an arm around him, Buck thinks he might burst. 

And then he sees the title right below the frame. **My family.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue I didn’t write: Buck calls the principal the next morning and asks if the school is willing to part with Christopher’s artwork. He hangs it up in the Oval Office, where it stays until he leaves office.


	21. the one where buck takes care of eddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so soft y'all i couldn't help myself 
> 
> set around two years into buck's presidency and inspired by Nocturnal_Fox who asked (months ago, i'm sorry!!) for buck taking care of eddie <3 
> 
> rating - g  
> word count - 1454

“Eagle car,” Bobby says, breath bated as they wait for a response. The car– _Buck’s car_ – is upside down in the middle of the road, engulfed in flames. Eddie’s blood went cold the second they turned the corner and saw it, his heart dropping to his feet instantly. Bobby’s holding him back, an arm across Eddie’s chest to keep him from running toward the merciless blaze in what they both know is a suicide mission. 

“Eagle car, report,” Bobby repeats, the sound of his voice coming back out at Eddie from his own radio, still nestled in his ear. His heart races, the blood draining from his face with each passing second of silence. 

“Buck!” He screams. Gone are the final shreds of self-control he had been clinging to. More silence. And then there are hands on his shoulders and someone’s saying something to him that he can’t quite make out over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. The hands guide him to the curb, gently nudge him down until he’s sitting. He looks over to see they belong to Hen. One is on his knee, the other rubbing circles into his back. She’s seated beside him, saying nothing, just staring at the blaze before them. 

Eddie looks around frantically, praying to any god who might hear him that Buck will appear. He catches Bobby’s eyes, biting his lip to keep from screaming when he sees the remorse in them. The noise of everything happening around them suddenly registers once more, the voices of agents and bystanders competing with the sound of sirens and the roar of the flames. “I’m sorry, Eddie,” the sorrow in Bobby’s voice is unmistakable. A scream rips through Eddie’s chest, splitting his vocal cords as it tears out of him. 

“Eddie.” 

“No!” Eddie shouts, shaking his head furiously. “Buck!”

“Eddie,” the voice repeats, louder this time. He knows that voice. He looks down to where Hen’s hand was on his thigh, only it’s not there any more. Instead, it’s a far more familiar one, shaking his leg. “Eddie, wake up.”

He blinks slowly as the room around him comes into view, blurred by the hot tears in his eyes. “It’s okay.” There’s a hand in his hair, stroking reassuringly. “I’m here.”

“Buck,” Eddie whispers, his voice breaking. He brings a hand up to Buck’s face, not confident he’s actually in front of him until he feels the stubble on Buck’s chin beneath his fingers, until the warmth of his skin eases the chill clinging to Eddie’s own. 

“Hey,” Buck says, his voice sure and certain and instantly grounding as his thumb brushes across Eddie’s cheek. “I’m here. You had a nightmare.” 

Eddie sighs, a defeated breath punched out of him as body begins to relax. Buck pulls him into his chest, his arms strong and familiar around him. “I’m sorry,” Eddie’s throat hurts as he speaks. His chest aches. Part of it is the hangover that comes from his dream, the other part guilt at knowing he woke Buck up– and probably scared him, too. 

“Don’t be,” Buck says. “It’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?” 

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, thinking about the vivid scene from his dream just a few minutes earlier. It had all felt so real– he could practically feel the heat thrown off by the flames, the press of Bobby’s arm against his chest as he tried to fight his way to Buck. “I… I lost you,” he says. 

“Eddie,” Buck sighs. He’s had more than his fair share of nightmares– souvenirs of his time in the Navy– always about missions and combat zones. Though as bad as they’ve been, he’s never had to watch the people he loves die in them. Which is why, try as he might, he can’t imagine how he’d feel after having one in which he lost Eddie. He’s not sure if he’d ever want to close his eyes again. 

Eddie scrubs hand over his face, taking another deep breath as he swipes at his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I- I should go home.”

“What? No,” Buck protests. “Stay.” 

“I woke you up,” Eddie points out. “You have a big day tomorrow. I’m sure you want to be alone.” He moves to get off the bed, only to be met with Buck’s hand on his wrist, stopping him wordlessly. 

Buck stares at him in disbelief for a moment. Eddie’s words have rocked him, pulled the air from his chest. He wonders what’s going on in Eddie’s head and how their wires could have become crossed in such a colossal way– how Eddie could possibly think Buck would want him anywhere except beside him.

“What I want is you,” Buck says, his voice barely above a whisper. Eddie looks defeated, his eyes tired behind wet lashes. “All I want— all I ever wanted from the second we met— is you. I want to wake up next to you and fall asleep next to you and spend every minute of every hour in between counting down the seconds until we’re alone together again, okay? I want good morning and goodnight and video games on the couch and dinner with Christopher. I want you, Eddie. I want _us_. Nightmares and all.” He pauses, letting his mind catch up to his mouth as he processes all that’s just spilled from his lips in what he thinks might be the world’s most epic word vomit.

Buck’s words cut like a knife, embedding themselves into the very core of Eddie’s soul and becoming one with him in a single, swift motion. Buck notices his expression soften and takes the opportunity to take Eddie’s face in his hands, their eyes meeting in the cool glow of the moonlight coming through the curtains. “All I want to do is love you and take care of you,” he says. “Let me.” 

Eddie nods, closing his eyes as he lets Buck’s words settle. “I don’t want to be a burden.” 

Buck almost doesn’t hear him, the words just shy of a whisper. “Impossible,” he insists, dropping a kiss between Eddie’s eyebrows. The worry lines between them dissolve, slipping away almost instantly beneath the gentle press of Buck’s lips. “Besides,” he adds, laying back against the pillows and tugging Eddie down with him. “I can’t sleep without you.” 

Buck’s heartbeat is steady as Eddie’s head rests against his chest. Eddie takes a long, shaky breath, his own racing heart slowing down with each steady beat of Buck’s beneath his ears. 

“That’s mutual,” Eddie says, met with a kiss to the top of his head. He's worried he’ll never sleep again, not when such vivid images exist behind his eyes. But then Buck’s running his fingers through his hair, his hushed “It’s okay,” repeated and clinging to the air.

“I’m here,” Buck says, his voice warm in Eddie’s ear. “And I’m not going anywhere." His tone is lighter, teasing almost, as he says, "You’re never getting rid of me.”

“Promise?”

It’s the last thing Eddie says before he drifts off, his eyes growing heavy beneath the comfort of Buck’s touch. When he wakes later, it’s not at the hands of a wave of anxiety or a terrifying vision. Rather, it’s Buck’s gentle sigh as he shifts against Eddie in his sleep, burrowing deeper into the space between his shoulder and his chest without so much as batting an eyelash. 

Eddie’s overcome with a rush of adoration, of appreciation and unbridled love for the man beside him. One glance at the clock tells him he still has another hour before he has to get up and sneak out. He wraps an arm across Buck’s chest, pulling him in closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Buck stirs just slightly, humming contentedly in his sleep as Eddie's lips land. Eddie’s chest squeezes, his own eyes closing as sleep pulls him back under. 

There’s sunlight poking through the curtains when Buck opens his eyes. The bed, though empty beside him, is still warm. The sheets still smell of Eddie as Buck draws in a long breath, sitting up and noticing the paper on the nightstand. Small capital letters that Buck’s come to known as Eddie’s fill the letterhead he must’ve swiped from the nightstand drawer. 

_I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand. And the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep, and there are no words for that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eddie’s note at the end is a quote from brian andreas’s book “story people,” and is one of the most beautiful things i’ve ever read. 
> 
> also, i made a tumblr! i have been fighting with ao3 embedding all night but come say hi at buddie-buddie.tumblr.com :D i haven't been on tumblr in close to 6 years and never in the 9-1-1 fandom, so if you have recs for who to follow, etc. please let me know!!! <3


	22. the one where eddie's protective streak runs wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo, [jupiterstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiterstars/profile) and i had the greatest back and forth about buck meeting eddie's conservative parents for the first time today. and then this was born shortly thereafter. it's the product of a snow day, this incredible prompt, and the fact that i'd be remiss to pass on an opportunity to drag fox news. enjoy!
> 
> set right before buck's reelection  
> rating- t  
> word count- 1930

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Eddie asks for what has to be the tenth time in as many minutes. His fingers are drumming against the door frame nervously as he looks Buck up and down. 

“Positive,” Buck replies. He takes one last look at himself in the mirror before stepping past Eddie, dropping a kiss to his lips as he does. “C’mon, or we’ll be late.” 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you changed your mind, is all,” Eddie continues, following Buck into the main room of the hotel suite. 

Buck smiles. “I know you wouldn’t.” He glances down at his phone, checking that the ringer is off before slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans. When he looks up, Eddie’s right in front of him, his face pinched with worry. 

For something that happens quite frequently– the distance between the two of them closing without either of them making a conscious effort to do so– there’s still a swell of warmth rising in Buck’s chest as Eddie’s sudden closeness registers. 

Buck brings a hand up to cup Eddie’s face, his thumb brushing across his cheek reassuringly. “Relax,” he says.  “It’s going to be fine. It’s one dinner with your parents. How bad could it possibly be?”

“Well, you’d be surprised.”

As the blacked-out car pulls up outside Eddie’s childhood home, his stomach’s doing somersaults powerful enough to qualify for the Olympic team. “Hey,” Buck says, squeezing Eddie’s denim-clad knee. His face is still pinched, missing the easy half-smile Buck loves so much. His leg is bouncing nervously as he stares out the window at the stucco-front home. “Are  _ you _ sure you want to do this?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah,” he says, taking a long, deep breath. “I want them to know you.” 

“I want that, too,” Buck says. “Besides, parents love me.” 

Eddie chuckles, stepping out of the back seat and holding the door open for Buck. Two agents trail them up to the front door, two others heading to the back of the house. 

Eddie thinks back to the day he had first run the idea past Buck. It was a couple weeks after they’d announced their relationship to the world, early morning sunlight coming through the windows of the bedroom in the residence as Eddie turned to Buck. He ran his fingers down Buck’s side absentmindedly as he spoke, asking Buck how he’d feel about tacking a visit to El Paso onto his upcoming campaign stop in Texas. Buck had immediately agreed, a soft smile breaking across his face as he pressed his lips to Eddie’s. He knew how complicated Eddie’s relationship with his parents is, rather familiar with the undertones of resentment lacing what little he spoke of them. 

Eddie had always tried to shield Buck from Ramon and Helena, so being asked to meet them was A Big Deal, as far as Buck was concerned. Despite Buck’s immediate and insistent agreement, Eddie still felt like he had to warn him.  “They think you’re a socialist who’s going to let our country go up in flames,” Eddie had said. “They voted against you three years ago. And probably will this year, too.” 

Buck had shrugged. “Them and 40 million other Americans.” 

“None of this bothers you?”

Buck shook his head and said, “No, not really,” as if it were the most simple thing in the world. “You know who I am. That’s all that matters.” 

“Edmundo,” Eddie’s father says, swinging the door open. His eyes shift to Buck as his wife appears beside him. 

“Eddie,” she says, kissing his cheek. Turning to Buck, she smiles softly. “Mr. Pr-”

“Buck,” he corrects, extending his hand to her, and then to Eddie’s dad. “Call me Buck.”

“Buck,” she says, nodding. “Welcome.” 

To say Eddie is tense would be an understatement. Buck can feel the tension radiating off him as he chews on the inside of his cheek, his hand glued to the small of Buck’s back as they walk through the house and out to the back patio. 

Dinner is fine, a little awkward if anything, Buck and Eddie’s mom swapping small talk in an attempt to keep the tension coming off of Eddie and his dad from suffocating the four of them. 

And then, once dinner’s finished and the table’s been cleared, Eddie’s dad turns to Buck and says, “So, when you close the Waco power plant, what’s the plan for the jobs lost? 200 men and women aren’t going to be able to provide for their families. And for what?”

Buck sits up a little straighter, giving Ramon his full attention. “Well, the plant is hazardous to people in the community,” he says. “There are chemicals seeping into the ground, which has the potential to contaminate drinking water, crops, even the mulch on school playgrounds. The safest thing for everyone in the community– for people like those 200 hard working families– is to close it.” 

“And the jobs?” 

“Well, the energy that was coming from that plant will have to come from somewhere,” he says. “That area will start to be served by a plant in Bellmead, which will have to expand to meet the higher demand. There’s a spot for everyone at the new plant, should they choose to accept it,” Buck explains. He had made sure of it, calling the CEO of the plant himself to guarantee that no one would lose their income at the hands of his executive order. “So those who want to be transferred there will be automatically, or they can opt out and find work elsewhere.”

He can feel Eddie’s eyes on the side of his face, watching him carefully for any signs of distress. He inches his arm closer to Eddie slightly, not so much that anyone would notice he’d done it, but just enough that their elbows brush against one another. It’s a silent reminder that he’s here, and he’s fine, that everything’s okay. It’s not much– it’s fleeting and indistinguishable to the others at the table– but Eddie instantly seems to relax, if only for a second. 

Ramon raises an eyebrow. “So if it’s so easy for them to find work, it should be just as easy for those on welfare, no?”

“Jesus Christ, Dad!” Eddie snaps, sitting up a little straighter. “Give it a rest.”

“It’s his job, mijo.” 

“He’s not sitting here interrogating  _ you _ about how to repair a downed power line,” Eddie replies, referencing his dad’s job as a lineman supervisor. 

“It’s fine,” Buck insists, punctuating his words by placing a hand on Eddie’s thigh beneath the table in an attempt to calm him down. 

“No, it’s not,” Eddie says, looking at Buck and then back at his father. “It’s not fine.” 

“Eddie!” his mother interjects. “Your father–”

“Is interrogating my boyfriend about matters of public policy at the dinner table,” Eddie cuts her off, standing up and pointing at his dad. “That’s not normal.” 

Buck would laugh out loud if he didn’t think it would push Eddie to his breaking point. 

“So what if your father has questions?” his mom says. “Valid questions, if you ask me.”

“Well, if you two listened to anything other than the racist, classist crap being spewed by whatever delusional, right-winged, embarrassing excuse for a journalist you pray to these days, you’d already have the answers,” Eddie snaps. “Leave him alone.” 

Buck sits in stunned silence, looking up at Eddie. Eddie, who, as far as Buck’s concerned, has never been hotter. The swiftness by which he took to defending Buck, the fire behind his eyes as he stares down his parents, and not to mention his simultaneous takedown of whatever clown’s anchoring Fox News these days all has Buck’s skin feeling a little too warm all of a sudden. 

“Edmundo, please.” his dad says. He turns to Buck and adds, “It was never my intention to offend you.” 

“No offense taken,” Buck jumps in before Eddie beats him to it. 

“No,” Eddie corrects. “Offense taken. He makes time in his schedule to come down here and meet you two and this is how you behave? This is the man I love and you can’t even give him the benefit of the doubt?”

Now it’s Eddie’s parents’ turn to sit in silence, staring at him for a moment. When it’s clear neither one of them is going to apologize or even say anything back to him, he turns to Buck. “Come on, babe. Let’s go.” 

Buck’s heart tugs at the pet name. For Eddie to drop a  _ babe  _ in front of anyone else– a term of endearment they both tend to save for their private conversations– his head must be spinning, his mind craving comfort and seeking it out by way of his words. Normally Buck would insist on staying, would try his best to smooth things over rather than take an out. But between that and the single look into Eddie’s eyes that tells Buck that he’s one blow of the wind away from a breakdown, he finds himself rising to his feet.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says, shaking each of their hands. He doesn't miss the sad smile Eddie’s mom gives, her eyes apologetic as she watches them turn to go. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” Helena says. Ramon is silent, but his eyes are downcast, as if he knows he messed up but is far too proud to speak on it. 

“Listen,” Buck says, stopping by the door and turning around. “I’m speaking at UT El Paso tomorrow. Why don’t you come? You can hear all about the policies and platforms I’m running on, and there will be a Q&A at the end.” 

Eddie turns to face him, his eyes saying a silent  _ you don’t have to do this  _ as they search Buck’s face. 

“Please,” Buck adds, looking between Helena and Ramon. “It, uh. It would mean a lot to me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says the second the car door closes behind them. “God, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Buck says, clicking his seat belt into place. He looks up, his stomach knotting as he gets a good look at Eddie. He’s wringing his hands, his lips pressed into a straight line as the car pulls away from the curb. His eyes look tired and his knee is bouncing again, the only outlet for the nervous energy coursing through his body. “Hey,” Buck says, voice low. He reaches out, grabs onto Eddie’s hand. “Eddie, it’s fine. I promise.” 

“They’re assholes,” he says, blinking twice as he shakes his head, looking up– whether in disbelief or in an attempt to hide the emotion on his face, Buck’s not sure. 

“They’re just set in their ways,” Buck insists. “It’s no different than plenty of other people I’ve encountered in the last few years.”

“The difference is they’re my parents,” Eddie points out. “And I love you. And if they could see even the tiniest fraction of what I see, they’d love you, too. But they refuse to even try, and it–” 

“But you tried,” Buck says. “You tried, Eddie. Because you love me. And that?” he asks, bringing Eddie’s hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “That means more to me than I could ever put into words.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue I didn’t write: Eddie’s parents come to see Buck speak the next day and are totally charmed and impressed. His mom sends Eddie a picture a few weeks later of the two of them on line to vote with the caption “4 more years.”
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr!](https://buddie-buddie.tumblr.com)


	23. the one where buck goes viral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JupiterStars had the *brilliant* idea of buck dressing up as captain america and going viral on twitter, and as soon as i started writing this, i couldn’t stop🥰
> 
> set 2 years into buck’s presidency  
> rating: m  
> word count: 2986

“I have four analysts on the Twitter picture.” 

Eddie looks up from his notes to meet Athena’s eyes. “The what?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. Eddie’s no stranger to hearing some weird things in his weekly FBI briefings– there are all sorts of crazies out there, after all– but a Twitter picture requiring four FBI analysts to monitor for threats? That’s new. 

“The Twitter picture that took the nation by storm last night,” Athena says, as if that clarifies anything. When met with another quizzical look from Eddie, the FBI liaison sitting beside Athena chimes in.

“The Captain America picture, sir.”

“The Captain America picture?” Hen repeats, as if that’s supposed to mean anything.

Athena holds up a finger as if to say _hang on_ as she reaches for her phone. She smirks as she finds what she’s looking for. 

“Oh boy. Let me see it, ‘Thena,” Hen says, extending her hand and wiggling her fingers. Athena obliges, passing her the phone. 

She starts cackling almost instantly, her head tipping back as she laughs. “Hen,” Eddie says. It’s all he manages to get out, the anticipation all but eating him alive.

She leans forward and takes a shaky breath, managing to compose herself only to catch another glimpse at the picture and double over with laughter once more. “Oh my god,” she hoots, passing Eddie the phone. “Oh, Chim is gonna lose it.” 

Eddie blinks twice as he looks down at the picture in front of him. It’s Buck, dressed as Captain America, head to toe. It’s a full body shot– taken by whom, Eddie’s not sure– and there’s a little kid dressed as Winter Soldier beside him. Upon further inspection, they appear to be in the hallway of a hospital. Eddie begins piecing it all together, realizing it must’ve been taken on Buck’s trip to Walter Reed yesterday. 

Eddie had stayed back, much to his displeasure. Every few months, agents in training run drills at the White House when Buck is off-site, and it was Eddie’s turn to stay behind and lead them. And with Hen and Chim off for the day and Bobby having snuck Buck out and over to Eddie’s the weekend before, Eddie found himself fresh out of favors to cash in and no one to swap places with. So he stayed back. 

But had he known Buck had _this_ up his sleeve, he’d have found his way into the motorcade if it was his last earthly action. 

He looks… incredible. The navy blue material clings to him in all the right spots, accentuating the swell of his thighs and the dip of his waist. The tight fabric leaves all but nothing to the imagination, practically spotlighting the curve of his back and the toned muscles of his stomach. He’s got the helmet tucked between his arm and his side, his hair disheveled as he grins. A stark contrast to the blinding white of his smile, his lips look pinker than usual, if that’s even possible. 

And Eddie. Well, Eddie wants to devour him. 

His breath catches in his throat as he passes the phone back to Athena, the tips of his ears burning as heat pools in his stomach. He clears his throat, refocusing his attention. If not for anything other than he refuses to give Hen the satisfaction. 

“Four analysts, huh?” he asks. 

Athena nods. “At least. Your boy has over a million retweets,” she says. “Even more likes. And there are hundreds of thousands of replies. It’s got a few dozen Reddit threads, and Tumblr is having a field day.” 

“I’ll bet they are,” Hen smirks, shooting Eddie a knowing glance. He ignores her, instead focused on wrapping this meeting as soon as possible. 

“Anything concerning?” Eddie asks. His heart thumps a little harder against his ribcage as he waits for her answer. 

Athena shakes her head. “Surprisingly, no. Not that they’re being tame by any means– _feral_ is more like it– but nothing raising any red flags so far.” 

Eddie nods, letting her words register. “Okay, then. And you’ll keep us posted if that changes?”

“Absolutely,” Athena says. “Mind if we borrow Hen for the day? We could use the extra help sifting through it all.” 

“As long as it’s cool with you, Hen,” Eddie says, looking over at her. He knows she’ll jump at the chance to work with Athena for the day, and sure enough, he’s met with an enthusiastic nod. 

Eddie’s practically buzzing out of his skin by the time they wrap the meeting and he steps out the door. As he makes his way to the Oval Office, he passes the briefing room, where he overhears two interns by the doors whispering something about “the picture.” 

It’s enough to make him stop in his tracks, turning on his heel and heading for the briefing room doors. As he steps inside, he hears reporters clambering for the press secretary’s attention as she steps up to the podium. He can’t make out much besides a few buzz words like _picture_ and _costume_ and _Twitter_ that all seem to be said the loudest.

“Good morning,” she says over the commotion, the room instantly quieting. “Briefing first, then questions. It’s been two years of this, you guys know the drill.” 

Sure enough, as soon as she’s finished giving updates on all of Buck’s current dealings, the room erupts as what seems to be every journalist present competes for her attention. 

“Sam!” one of the reporters calls out, a little louder than all the others. 

“Jack,” she replies, pointing to him. “Go ahead.” 

The rest of the room settles long enough to hear his question. “Is President Buckley aware that he’s been trending on Twitter for nine straight hours?” 

She laughs, shaking her head. If she’s sharing Eddie’s frustration that this is what they’re choosing to ask about, she does a good job masking it. “I’m not sure. I haven’t had the chance to ask him that yet today.” She looks into the crowd, pointing at a reporter in the second row with her hand raised. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“Does the administration have any comment on the _#AvengersASSemble_ hashtag?”

Eddie’s jaw very nearly drops at that one. He catches himself just in time, covering the startled noise that came from the back of his throat with a cough. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning up against the wall on the side of the room and waits for Sam’s response.

“Again, I haven’t had a chance to ask President Buckley about the picture yet,” she says. “Anyone with a question on policy? Updates to the healthcare bill rolling out in Congress tomorrow? Progress on lowering the national debt?” 

The raised hands in the room slowly lower until there’s just one left. 

“Yes, Adam. Go ahead.” 

“Does the President have any plans to start autographing copies of said picture? Twenty bucks a pop and you’ll have a dent in the national debt by nightfall.” 

The room erupts in laughter, but Eddie’s seething. 

Sure, it’s no secret that Buck’s hot. And this isn’t the first time a picture of him has made its rounds on the internet and garnered some public attention. Eddie knows that all the journalists in the room are just doing their jobs, and that this is all in good fun– but hearing them bypass Buck’s achievements in favor of talking about him like he’s an object has Eddie’s blood boiling and his jaw set in a straight line. 

He has half a mind to walk up to the microphone and set them all straight when his earpiece beeps. “Eddie, Eddie, Chim.”

Eddie brings his wrist up to his chin. “Go for Eddie.” 

“Eds? Where are you?” 

Eddie sighs, pushing off the wall and heading out into the hallway as he speaks. “Buck? Give Chim his radio back. And tell him if he loans it out again, he’s on drill duty for the rest of the year.” 

“Yeah, I’m not telling him that.” Eddie can practically hear Buck’s grin. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“You said you’d be here at noon.” 

“Says the CEO of punctuality,” Eddie replies, his voice hushed as he makes his way down the hall. 

“I’m just saying.” 

“Surely that can’t be the only reason why you bugged Chim until he let you use his radio.” 

“Ah, correct,” Buck admits, drumming his fingers on the edge of the desk. “I had a favor to ask.”

“We’re not going to McDonald’s,” Eddie says, rounding the corner and approaching the Oval. “Give Chim his radio back.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask!” Buck protests.

“Or Taco Bell.”

He steps into the Oval in time to watch Buck pass the radio back to Chimney, pouting. The two of them look up at Eddie as he walks in, one of his eyebrows raised. 

“Eddie,” Buck says seriously. “Hear us out. They brought back the fiesta potatoes.”

“Fiesta potatoes!” Chimney echoes, clapping his hands together to punctuate his words. “C’mon, Eddie. You know you want to.” 

Eddie turns to face Chim. “I want _you_ ,” he says. “To cover Hen today. She’s on loan to the FBI.” 

“FBI?” Chimney asks, as Buck stands up a little straighter. He subconsciously inches a little bit closer to Eddie as Chim continues, “Everything okay?”

Eddie nods, committed to making sure neither one of them suspects anything’s up. Chim will find out when he heads to the control room, anyway. But the last thing Eddie wants is Buck feeling unsafe or guilty, both of which he’s bound to if he learns they’ve heightened online surveillance after his viral moment. “Totally,” he says. “We have an easy day and Athena poached her the second she heard.” 

Chim seems to buy it, bless him. If he has any more questions, he holds them in, patting Buck’s shoulder before heading out. 

“So,” Eddie says, once the door closes behind him and they’re alone in the room. “I saw your picture.”

“Oh?” Buck asks. He aims for innocent, but misses entirely, thanks to the grin creeping onto his face. “Which one?”

“You know which one,” Eddie says, his voice low. When he first stepped into the room, he was a good foot or two away from Buck. He can’t remember either of them moving, but the distance between them has since closed, Buck now close enough that Eddie can see the flush creeping up the side of his neck, can feel the warmth of his exhale. “Are you _trying_ to kill me?” 

“Maybe,” Buck smirks. His fingers ghost against Eddie’s side, trailing up from his hip to his waist, then back down again. His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes raking up and down Eddie’s body. “Is it working?”

“I’m tempted to put my hands on you in a way that would defile the honor of this office,” Eddie practically purrs. “You tell me.”

A chill runs down Eddie’s spine as Buck leans in. His hot breath up ghosts against the side of Eddie’s neck as he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Special Agent Diaz.” 

Eddie’s hands come to rest on the desk on either side of Buck’s hips, boxing him in. “Is that a challenge, Mr. President?”

Just as Buck’s tips his chin to meet Eddie’s lips, the phone on his desk rings. He swears under his breath, his eyes screwing shut as he groans audibly. 

Eddie steps back, giving Buck his personal space back, as much as it kills him to do so. “We are _so_ not done here,” Buck says pointedly, just before pulling the phone to his ear. 

As hard as Buck tries, he doesn’t manage to get another moment alone with Eddie until the sun’s gone down and they’ve headed up to the residence. With Chris at Shannon’s, Eddie’s free to stay the night, so long as he sneaks out before the morning agents arrive. 

They’re on the couch together, the weight of the day slipping away more and more each minute that passes with Buck’s head resting against Eddie’s shoulder. Their thighs are pressed up against one another, Eddie’s fingers stroking through Buck’s hair absentmindedly with one hand as the other flips through the channels. 

“Stop!” Buck declares as they land on a late-night talk show. “I want to see if he mentions the healthcare bill.” 

Eddie obliges, setting the remote down on the side table. While there’s no mention of the healthcare bill in the opening monologue, there’s an entire segment a few minutes later all about Buck’s viral picture. 

“Our fearless leader went viral on Twitter early this morning,” the host says. “So we took to the streets to do our civic duty: making sure everyone on the streets of Manhattan has seen this picture. And what better way to do that than with our favorite game _Smash or Pass_?” 

Eddie scoffs at that, earning a single raised eyebrow from Buck. 

“Ma’am!” the host calls out, flagging down a woman on a street corner. He holds up a printout of one of the New York senators. “Smash or pass?” 

She giggles. “Pass.” 

“That’s fair,” the host nods. He holds up a printout of the picture of Buck. “Smash or pass?”

“Smash,” she says instantly. She brings her hands up to cover her mouth, laughing. “Sorry, Mom and Dad. But absolutely I’d smash.” 

Buck doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s tensed up beside him. His eyes are fixed on the screen, his fingers since having stilled at the nape of Buck’s neck. 

“You okay?” Buck asks gently. 

“What?” Eddie asks, the sound of Buck’s voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Yeah.” 

Another two passersby are flagged down and asked the same question, both of whom answer “smash” without hesitation. Buck continues to sneak glances at Eddie, who still looks like he’s contemplating murder.

“Eddie,” Buck says, reaching over his lap and swiping the remote. He pauses the show, shifting his body to fully face Eddie. “You in there?” he taps Eddie’s temple with his finger gently. 

“Yeah,” Eddie replies. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Eddie.” 

“People are objectifying you,” Eddie points out. “They all think they have this… this claim to you.”

“It’s all in good fun,” Buck insists. The attention doesn’t bother him in the slightest, not when it’s innocent like this. And for a good cause— the charity fund to benefit patients in the pediatric ward where the picture was taken has already raised half a million dollars. “What’s bothering you?” he presses, brows knit with concern. 

Eddie shrugs. It’s still hard for him to use his words sometimes, no matter how much he loves and adores Buck. It’s not for a lack of feeling safe with Buck— he’s never felt safer with anyone, actually— but more so that he’s still unlearning three decades of repressed emotion and bottled up thoughts. 

“Maybe I don’t want to share you,” he admits. 

Buck’s brows unknit at that, a stunned smile breaking out across his face. “You’re jealous?” he asks, realization dawning on him. Really, he should’ve known. It’s not like this is the first time he’s gotten a little too much attention and Eddie’s gotten a little broody because of it. 

“No.” 

Buck looks between Eddie and the floor a few times. “What are you doing?” Eddie asks. 

“Trying to decide who lies better– you or the rug.” 

Eddie shoves Buck’s shoulder playfully, rolling his eyes. He takes a long pull from his beer. “Fine,” he admits. “So I’m a little bit jealous.”

“Just a little bit, huh?” Buck hums. 

“I don’t like to share,” Eddie says simply. “Is that a crime?”

Buck smirks, setting his beer down on the coffee table. “If it is,” he says, throwing a knee over Eddie’s outstretched legs and sinking down onto his lap. “Then I’m guilty of it, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie hums, his breath ghosting across Buck’s neck as he noses at his jaw. His hands come to rest on Buck’s waist, anchoring him in place. 

“Yeah,” Buck says, the word clinging the space between their lips as their foreheads touch. “Partners in crime, you and me.”

Eddie’s chest is burning in the very best way, the flames growing higher with each stroke of Buck’s fingers against his cheek. “I could get used to that.” 

Their lips meet, the heady buzz coursing through Buck’s body just as intoxicating as the first time Eddie kissed him three years ago. It’s as if time stops, every inch of Buck’s body tingling as Eddie’s lips brush his own, the world halting on its axis. Eddie’s hands snake up the back of Buck’s shirt, unable to focus on anything other than the sear of Buck’s skin beneath his fingertips as he pulls him into his chest, drawing him even closer. 

Buck gasps as Eddie nips at his collarbone, half a moan punched out of him as Eddie licks over the spot just a second later, soothing the bite before nosing towards his jaw. He tightens his grip around Eddie’s neck, arching his back as he sucks in a shaky breath. Eddie’s skin is on fire, burning brightest where it’s pressed to Buck’s. He wants to bottle Buck’s tiny, bitten-off noises, intoxicating as they are. Talk about a product to make a dent in the national debt. 

Buck grinds down onto Eddie’s lap, relishing in the way the lust pools in Eddie’s eyes as his breath catches in his throat.

“You never,” Buck breathes. “H-have to share me,” he manages to get out in between heated kisses, his fingers threading in Eddie’s hair. “I’m all yours, Special Agent Diaz.”

Eddie flips them in one swift motion, his hold on Buck never wavering as he pins his back to the couch cushions and hovers over him. “Well, Mr. President,” he says, dropping a hungry kiss to Buck’s lips. “It’s mutual.” 

“Hey,” Buck grins. “That’s Captain America, to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s 3 am and i’m posting this from my phone, so please know that any mistakes you find 1) are inevitable and 2) come with permission to roast me for them in the comments


	24. the one with the invisible string

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set 3 years into buck’s presidency
> 
> rating: t  
> word count: 2188

“Buck.” 

Eddie’s voice is equal parts gentle and insistent in that way he always seems to master. Buck looks up from his desk, beneath which his knee is bouncing nervously– the movement a stark contrast to the rest of his body which appears to be seized up in what Eddie can only assume is anxiety. His jaw is clenched, his eyebrows pinched as he stares at his computer screen, his gaze unmoving until Eddie speaks his name. 

He doesn’t say anything back, just meets Eddie’s eyes with his own in a silent acknowledgement, an unspoken invitation to continue speaking. 

“You okay?”

It’s a loaded question. The short answer is no. The long answer is also no. Buck’s day began with the news that the FBI had taken down a group of homegrown terrorists in Florida who had plans to blow up a local street fair. The news brought with it overwhelming guilt, the rush of it so strong Buck thought he might drown in it. It was far too close of a call for his liking, with the FBI moving in just 38 hours before their planned attack. 

It’s left Buck feeling like a failure. He’s wracked with guilt that thousands of Americans were living with these people in their community– that they could have been harmed at a moment’s notice and no one would have ever seen it coming. He’s not sure what he could have done differently to prevent it from happening, but he can’t shake the feeling that he should have done more. 

Despite Athena’s repeated assurance that no one blames him for any of it– if anything, they’re thankful that the federal agencies operating under his administration were able to interfere before anyone was hurt– he still blames himself. He’s been doing the job for nearly three years now, and still feels like he’s been thrown in the deep end of a pool, stuck swimming toward a wall that keeps moving further and further away. 

He’s spent his afternoon descending further and further into a pit of his own imposter syndrome, letting the crushing weight of his guilt marry the ever-present swells of self doubt, the combination of the two eating away at him more and more with each passing moment. 

He isn’t sure how he managed to fool the American people into voting for him when he can’t even deliver on his promises to keep them safe, and how much longer he has until the other shoe drops and he’s exposed as a fraud. 

And Eddie wants to know if he’s okay. Which, he’s not– not even a little bit. And Eddie’s leaving in a minute to pick Chris up from school and the last thing Buck wants is to unload on him. The weight of the demons that have taken up residence in his mind is so crushing, he can’t bear the thought of Eddie taking on even an ounce of it. 

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. Nothing about it is convincing, including when he says, “I’m good.”

Eddie opens his mouth to respond just as the door to the Oval Office swings open, the agent set to tag him out stepping into the room. 

“Special Agent Walker,” Buck says, grateful for the distraction from Eddie’s gaze. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. President,” they reply. “It’s an honor to be with you today.”

“Likewise,” Buck smiles at them before looking over at Eddie. “Have a great afternoon, Special Agent Diaz.” 

Eddie tries not to worry as he bids Buck and Special Agent Walker goodbye, but he can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right with Buck. His jaw was set far too tight and the light was gone from his eyes, tired beneath pinched brows. Coupled with the way nervous energy poured from him and his silence during what would normally be an afternoon filled with small talk and banter, Eddie isn’t sure he’s buying Buck’s quick insistence that he’s fine. 

As he makes his way through the carpool line at Christopher’s school, Eddie doesn’t feel fully present. It’s as if a piece of his heart is still in the Oval Office, what’s left in Eddie’s chest longing for it like a fish does water. 

He does his best to compartmentalize it all in order to be present with Chris, tucking his thoughts of Buck away in a box on the highest shelf in his mind in an attempt to quell the worry gnawing at him. The second Chris is asleep, Eddie pulls his phone out. He’s dialing Buck’s number as he pulls Christopher’s bedroom door shut, the line trilling as he walks down the hallway and into the living room. 

“Eddie?”

Eddie relaxes instantly at the sound of Buck’s voice, laced with what sounds a little like relief. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” Buck says. It comes out more of a sigh than anything, his voice taking on a watery edge as he blinks twice and looks up at the ceiling. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon trying his best to hold it together and keep himself from spiraling even further than he already had, which had proved to be a fruitless attempt. He had given up just after eight, heading to the residence with a cloudy mind and a heavy chest in hopes of sleeping off at least a fraction of the funk that had consumed him.

Buck didn’t realize just how badly he needed Eddie until his name lit up his phone not even an hour later. Those little white letters– glowing in the darkness of Buck’s room as his phone vibrated against the nightstand– were instantly grounding, an immediate comfort that multiplied tenfold when Buck brought the phone to his ear and heard Eddie’s voice. 

“Are you working?” Eddie asks. 

“No.” Buck glances around his bedroom in the residence, eyes lingering on the empty spot on the mattress beside him that he so desperately wishes were dipped under the weight of Eddie. “I’m home.” 

“You alright?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah.” 

Eddie tries a different tactic. “You want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Evan.” 

Buck ignores the way his chest feels a little warmer all of a sudden at the sound of his first name on Eddie’s lips. If he thinks about it too much, about how Eddie only ever says it in moments when he knows Buck needs its grounding effect, how it’s always laced with love and said gently, it’ll split his chest wide open. So instead, he just says, “Edmundo.” 

Eddie sighs, shaking his head. Not only does Buck wear his heart on his sleeve, he’s got a spotlight shining on it. Maybe even a neon arrow pointing at it, too. “You say you’re fine, and you might be able to fool other people into believing that,” Eddie says. “But you should know better than to think it’ll work on me.” His voice goes softer as he continues. “I want to help. Please let me.” 

Buck lets out a shaky breath. “I’m not sure,” he says, his voice small.

Eddie’s chest squeezes a little bit at that. He can tell just from the watery edge to Buck’s voice how much he’s hurting. “Not sure of what?”

“Everything?” he says. It comes out as a question, as if Buck isn't even sure of that much. 

“Talk to me,” Eddie says gently. 

Buck tells him everything. About the FBI raid, about the guilt, about the crushing self doubt and the imposter syndrome all but eating him alive. Eddie listens, hanging onto every word. 

“I… I’m not sure what I’m doing,” Buck admits. “It’s been three years and I still feel like I’m drowning some days.” 

“It’s okay to not be sure,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to know what you’re doing. There’s no blueprint for this,” he points out. “Fewer than fifty people in the world have ever done this job, and only four of them are still alive.”

“I know,” Buck says, sighing. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “But I still feel like I’m failing everyone.”

“Speaking as a tax-paying American– one who voted for you, too– I can confidently say that you’re the only one who feels that way.” 

“I’m just…. I’m not sure how to do this job some days, and today is one of them. And it makes me wonder how I got here, you know? I’m not sure how I managed to fool millions of Americans into voting for me, how I tricked them into believing I’m competent enough to lead them and keep them safe when clearly, I’m not.” 

Eddie’s chest aches. He desperately wants to be beside Buck right now, to be able to lace their fingers together and press a kiss to his temple, to comfort him in the ways that his words can’t. 

The longing all but consumes him as Buck’s voice breaks on the final word of his sentence. 

“You’re doing the best you can. And your best is  _ infinitely _ better than what anyone else would be able to do if they were in your shoes.” Eddie means every word of it. “Forty-odd presidents before you tried to reach across the aisle and establish a true bipartisan legislature. You were the only one to actually do it. You inherited the largest national debt in the country’s history and managed to put a trillion-dollar dent in it within months of being in office. You kept millions of Americans safe during the hurricane last year, and you signed executive orders and passed laws to protect migrant families. Not to mention, you made healthcare  _ and _ education affordable and accessible for 328 million people. Or did you forget about that?” 

Buck can't help but smile a little bit at that. 

“You have people around you to support you,” Eddie reminds him. “Lean on them. You have advisors and aides and a whole building of staffers who would all jump at the chance to help. And you have me. You always have me.” 

As Eddie’s words land, Buck has a moment of clarity as he realizes the gravity of the connection they share. It goes so far beyond surface level, permeating deeper than any attachment, any bond that Buck’s ever shared with another person, Maddie included. His heart pounds in his chest as he realizes that Eddie’s tuned into him in a way that Buck isn’t even tuned into himself. 

Buck’s known for a while now that he loves Eddie. He adores the man and everything about him, and he knows the feeling’s mutual. But this? The realization that Eddie knows him better than he knows himself? It transcends that. Their bond is precious– it’s enduring and unbreakable and so perfectly woven into the fibers of their lives and the very essence of their beings that they’ve become an extension of one another. 

“Well,” Buck says. “I stand corrected. I am sure of one thing.” 

“What’s that?” Eddie asks. 

“You.” 

“Me?”

“You’re one of the few things that I’m sure of,” Buck admits. “Death, taxes, and Eddie Diaz.” 

“Death, taxes, and Eddie Diaz,” Eddie repeats. “That sounds like a blockbuster movie.”

Buck grins, shaking his head fondly. “It does,” he admits. “But I mean it. I don’t know how you knew I needed this– how badly I needed to hear your voice tonight. I didn’t even know I needed it myself until my phone rang. But you did. You knew.” 

“I–” Eddie begins, but Buck cuts him off. 

“You know me better than I know myself some days– most days– and I can always count on that. I can always count on  _ you _ .” 

Eddie smiles, tipping his head back against the couch cushions as his chest swells. He knows exactly the feeling that Buck's describing. He's been on the receiving end of it himself countless times– like when Buck's pinky brushes up against his in the hallway on a hard day, the silent reassurance that Eddie doesn't know he needs until it happens. And when he finds a note from Buck taped to the inside of a drawer or beneath his favorite mug, a piece of him in Eddie's apartment when he can't be there himself. They're always perfectly timed, discovered by Eddie on the days when he's missing Buck the most. 

Even when they’re physically apart, their minds and hearts remain so flawlessly intertwined, an imaginary force pulling them to one another despite distance and space between them. 

“It’s the invisible string,” Eddie says. 

“The what?” 

“The invisible string,” Eddie repeats. “People who love each other are connected by an invisible string. It’s made of love. And mine,” he says, pausing for a beat. “Is connected to you.” 

Buck smiles, his chest tight in the very best way. “And what? You felt me pulling on it tonight?” 

“Something like that,” Eddie says. “I felt a tug and then all of a sudden the room smelled like scotch.” 

Buck rolls his eyes. “Very funny.” 

Eddie laughs, the warmth behind it the perfect antidote for what's left of the pit in Buck's chest. "Hey, Buck?" Eddie says a moment later. 

"Hmm?" 

"For what it's worth, I'm sure of you, too." 


	25. the one where eddie diaz is the ceo of wet t-shirts and jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [rebecca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/221BSunsetTowers/pseuds/221BSunsetTowers) started talking about buck and eddie at a school fundraiser and i simply could not go another moment without this existing as part of this universe
> 
> set 6 years into buck's presidency  
> rating: t  
> word count: 2629

“There’s a hose joke in here somewhere,” Buck murmurs in Eddie’s ear, leaning in as to not be overheard by the other parents milling around the parking lot. 

Watching Eddie run the hose at a middle school car wash fundraiser was never on the list of things Buck thought would turn him on, which he's rapidly learning has been a huge oversight on his part. Because, really. Come on. 

Eddie looks like he’s straight out of a movie, the perfect cling of his tee shirt to his skin rivaled only by that of his jeans. Between his slightly disheveled hair and the black sunglasses for which he knows damn well Buck has a weakness, Buck has half a mind to drag him behind the nearby bleachers. 

Eddie stands up a little bit straighter, his shoulder knocking into Buck’s in a way that’s far more intentional than any onlooker might realize. 

“Behave,” Eddie warns, despite the way Buck’s words have sent a flush up the side of his neck, chasing away the chills set in motion by the weight of Buck’s hand on the small of his back. 

“That’s a big ask,” Buck smirks, bringing his hand up to squeeze Eddie’s shoulder before heading back to his spot at the cash box. 

When Christopher had first mentioned the car wash, Buck was on board before the words were even out of his mouth. 

“Eddie, come on!” he had pleaded. “They’re desperate for volunteers and it’s all to benefit the kids. It’ll be great.” 

“It’s still an open air event,” Eddie pointed out.

“Need I remind you how exceedingly capable you are when it comes to keeping me safe?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes fondly. Christopher’s school was about as safe as they come to begin with, not to mention he was certain he’d be able to find more than a few agents who’d jump at the chance for the overtime. “You really want to go?”

“More than anything.” 

Eddie had pressed a kiss to Buck’s cheek, completely enamored with his ceaseless desire to show up for Chris in any way possible. “Okay, then. First shift or second?” 

The truth is, Eddie’s over the moon that Buck wanted to come to this. Eddie himself wouldn’t miss it for anything, but he has to admit that it’s far more enjoyable having Buck here than it would be working the fundraiser alone. And while they’re not completely together– Eddie’s working the hose line while Buck mans the cash box, greeting visitors and thanking them for supporting the sixth-grade trip to Disney World– Eddie is very much enjoying having Buck here. Something about the PTA tee shirt stretched across his broad shoulders has something stirring low in Eddie’s stomach. That and the fact that Buck’s presence has made this one of the most successful fundraisers in school history almost make up for the fact that the other parents are practically drooling over Buck and have been since the second he walked in. Almost.

Buck has been to Christopher’s school events plenty of times before, so by this point, all the other parents know what to expect. Nearly every parent at the school is important in their own right to begin with, whether they’re a senator, judge, diplomat, federal agent, or some other form of D.C. elite. So not only has the shininess of running into the President at PTA functions worn off, but no one bats an eye at the security since the majority of them bring their own, as well. 

Though no matter how desensitized the other parents are to the security and the protocols in place when Buck’s around, the same can’t be said for Buck’s charm and good looks. They’re drawn to him like moths to flame. And while Eddie can’t blame them, he can’t shake the stirrings of jealousy low in his gut. 

Not when they’re staring and winking and flirting– and shamelessly, to boot. When they first arrived, the dad in charge of organizing the car wash had met them at the gate. Where Eddie got a handshake, Buck was greeted with a clap on the shoulder, a hand lingering on his forearm, and a cheeky smile– despite the guy’s husband standing right next to him. Eddie took a deep breath and tried not to glare. That had just been the beginning. 

Now, his eyes wander across the parking lot as he hoses off a Range Rover. He’s not sure if it’s the late-April sun or the way that Buck winks over his shoulder as he catches Eddie looking at him, but his shirt feels a little tight around his collar, the back of his neck a little flushed. He turns back to the car, stepping around the back to rinse the last of the suds from the rear windshield before waving the driver on to the towel-dry portion of the assembly line. 

As the car pulls away, his view of Buck—really, Buck’s back— is restored. He’s sitting beside a woman named Linda, who Eddie met for the first time today but recognized as one of Hen and Karen’s friends. She’s in the seat beside him at the cashier table, and has a perfectly manicured hand on his arm, her head tipped back as she laughs at whatever he just said. When she rights herself, her hand lingers on Buck’s arm for a little longer than necessary and  _ far  _ longer than Eddie would like. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow, his face flushing as his heart pounds against his ribcage. As much as he wants nothing more than to continue staring daggers into her back– until she either keeps her hands to herself or bursts into flames, Eddie’s not picky– he instead radios Hen, just as he hears the crunch of gravel behind him signifying the next car is ready to be rinsed down.

“Hen, Hen, Eddie.” 

He watches her turn to face him from the other side of the parking lot. “Yes?” her voice comes through the radio in Eddie’s ear, the word drawn out as if she’s not sure what Eddie wants from her.

“Special Agent Wilson, do you make a habit of allowing civilians to put their hands on the President, or just the ones in your book club?”

Hen glances over at Buck and Linda at the table a few feet away from where she stands, then back at Eddie across the lot. Even with a hundred feet of asphalt between them, Eddie can tell by the way she cocks her head that she’s on to him. 

“You know damn well I’m not in a  _ book club _ ,” Hen shoots back. The words drip with contempt, making it perfectly clear she’s insulted with Eddie’s insinuation. Linda’s twin daughters are at the lower school with Nia, and while Hen would sooner be caught dead than at a book club, she and Linda  _ do  _ run in the same circles. Hen can confirm firsthand that she’s lovely, but she knows that’s the last thing Eddie wants to hear right now. “Do you have a bone to pick with all suburban moms or just the ones who make you jealous?” 

Eddie’s caught off guard by that. “Just….” 

“Goodbye, Eddie,” Hen says, rolling her eyes. “And you missed a spot.” 

A dozen more cars come through in quick succession, after which Eddie glances over and sees Linda lean in and whisper something into Buck’s ear before elbowing him playfully. In a remarkable show of self restraint, Eddie does not aim the hose at the back of her head. Instead, he switches it off and sets it down calmly, crossing the lot to Buck’s station. 

“Hey, you,” Buck says, looking up as Eddie approaches. He grins, looking Eddie up and down. His shirt is wet from an hour’s worth of back spray from the hose, which only further defines the expanse of toned muscle beneath the now-damp fabric. As Eddie brings the back of his hand up to wipe a stray water droplet from his eyebrow, his shirt riding up and exposing a flash of the smooth skin above his waistband, Buck can’t think of anything he wants to do more than devour him. “You look like a natural over there. Maybe you missed your calling.” 

“Was gonna say the same about you,” Eddie replies, nodding at the street. “There are cars wrapped around the block. We’ve got people coming in from Maryland and Virginia just to hand you a $10 bill.” 

“Can you blame them?” Linda chimes in. 

If looks could kill, Eddie would be at the top of the FBI’s Most Wanted list. And it’s a good thing they can’t, because Athena would have a field day with that one. But the pointed stare he shoots at Linda is icier than the oversized diamond on her finger. 

“No, Linda, I can’t,” he says, leaning in and dropping a kiss to Buck’s lips. He pats Buck’s cheek as he pulls back, shooting Linda a honeyed smile. “Not even a little.” 

He feels a little bit better as he returns to the hose line— the borderline homicidal look is gone from his eyes, at least. 

When Linda gets up a moment later to empty the cash box into the safe inside the school, Hen drops into the chair beside Buck. 

When she leans in and sniffs him, he raises an eyebrow quizzically. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Trying to figure out if Eddie went so far as to pee on you when he marked his territory just now.” 

Buck shoves her away playfully, rolling his eyes. “Get out of here.”

“Alright, alright,” Hen surrenders. “But if another one of these parents starts fawning over you, he might start growling at them. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

“Who, Eddie?” 

“Who, Eddie?” Hen parrots back, mocking him. “Yes, Eddie! You know better than anyone that his jealousy rests at like a six on a good day. All these parents flirting and touching and staring while he’s stuck on the other side of the parking lot have brought that up to a nine. Easily. 9.5 when Linda put her hand on your arm.”

“Linda put her hand on my arm?” Buck asks. He really hadn’t noticed, far too consumed with stealing glances at Eddie and trying not to drool. “How are any of them looking at me when Eddie’s over there looking like sex on legs? I mean, I can barely keep it in my pants and–” 

“And I’m done,” Hen says, clapping her hands on her knees and standing up. “And contemplating a call to HR.” 

Buck rolls his eyes fondly before standing up himself and crossing the lot to where Eddie’s finishing up a blacked-out sedan with government plates. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, his face lighting up as he notices Buck approaching. 

“C’mere,” Buck says quietly, placing a hand on Eddie’s wrist. “Follow me.” 

Eddie would follow Buck to the edge of the world, so behind the side of a middle school on Wisconsin Avenue is a no brainer. 

“What’s gotten into you, Special Agent Diaz?” Buck asks once they’re alone behind the building.

Eddie leans against the brick wall, looking absolutely irresistible as he does. He seems to know exactly what Buck’s referring to, replying, “I can’t kiss the man I love?” 

“Oh, you can,” Buck insists, closing the distance between them with a single step. His voice is low, husky in a way that sends a chill up Eddie’s spine. “You  _ absolutely _ can. In fact, I’d prefer if you did.”

Eddie dips his head, his lips ghosting across Buck’s. “That makes two of us,” he murmurs before kissing Buck for real. 

Buck’s breath hitches in his throat as warmth pools in his stomach, his pulse thrumming beneath Eddie’s fingers on the side of his neck. “You know how hard it’s been for me?” he asks, warm breath mingling with Eddie’s in the space between their lips. “Watching you today. Looking like that.” 

“Once again,” Eddie breathes, nipping at Buck’s jaw. “That makes two of us.” 

“Mmm,” Buck hums against Eddie’s lips. “Only one of us was jealous though.” 

Eddie smirks. There’s no point in trying to deny it— he was hardly discreet, after all. “I still don’t like sharing.” 

“Then it’s a good thing,” Buck says, voice low. His finger traces the curves of Eddie’s knuckles as he speaks. “That I’m not interested in being anything but yours.” 

  
  


“That was fun today,” Buck says later, once they’re home. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s chest, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder as he hugs him from behind. “I’m glad we went.” 

Eddie immediately relaxes into Buck’s touch, tipping his head against Buck’s until their temples are resting against one another. “I don’t know how you do it,” Eddie’s reply is muffled around his toothbrush as he meets Buck’s gaze in the bathroom mirror. 

“What’s that?” 

“Continue to show up for him,” he says, leaning forward to flip the tap back on and rinse his mouth. There’s an unspoken  _ when you’re already more than occupied with trying to run a country _ hanging onto the end of his sentence. “Even with things like this. It was parents only. Chris wouldn’t have known if you missed it.” 

Buck shrugs. “Yeah, but I would have known.” 

Eddie doesn’t miss the way Buck’s eyes drop down for a second, the light behind them flickering, and the way his mouth twitches, almost like it’s headed for a frown. “You okay?” Eddie asks gently.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. The fact that he's answering honestly and not automatically insisting he's fine isn't lost on Eddie– the way Buck trusts him enough to let down his guard like this will never stop making his chest squeeze, his heart hang a little heavier. “I love this stuff, you know? The fundraisers and school plays and bake sales– all of it. But it just…” 

“It makes you sad,” Eddie finishes his sentence. 

“A little,” Buck admits. “My parents never showed up for me. They never came to my games or volunteered or even knew what was going on half the time. And now that I get to do all that for Chris, I know how special it is. And it just makes it harder for me to understand why they didn’t.” 

Eddie just nods, giving Buck the time he needs to let all of his thoughts out. The moments where Buck talks about his parents are few and far between, the pain and resentment that cling to memories of his childhood still manage to cut deep, even decades later. 

Buck takes a deep breath before he continues. “Making cookies with Chris for his school bake sale and seeing the look on his face when he finds us in the audience at the school play, and the way he laughed when he heard we spent our Saturday washing cars so he and his class can go to Disney world– it’s just…” Buck’s voice trails off. “It’s the greatest feeling in the world.” He means it. It’s a high that he looks forward to chasing for the rest of his life. 

“Buck,” Eddie says. It’s soft and gentle and dripping with so much adoration it’s practically reverent. 

“I just…. I would do anything for that kid,” Buck says. 

“And that,” Eddie says, turning in Buck’s arm and placing his hands on his chest. “Is why I love you. Why  _ we  _ love you.”

“As comforting as that is,” Buck hums. “You’ve got some stiff competition.”

“Oh?” Eddie challenges, raising an eyebrow. 

Buck nods. “Some of those parents today made some pretty compelling arguments.”

“Maybe so,” Eddie says, his voice low as he turns them so Buck’s back is against the bathroom sink. Eddie’s hands come to rest on the countertop on either side of his hips as he leans in, invading his space in the way Buck spends nearly every waking minute craving. “But did they do this?” he drops a soft, lingering kiss to Buck’s lips. 

“I can’t recall,” Buck teases. “Maybe you could try that again, see if it jogs my memory.” 


	26. the one with the natural disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO AGAIN!!!  
> i promise i didn't abandon these one shots! i took a quick break to write [we're waiting here for something to save us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422695/chapters/72279801) and [shamrock your heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29746914), both within this verse (let's be real, will i ever write outside this verse again? unlikely) but i'm back now! 
> 
> this one is a little peek into the tornado mentioned in [chapter five of wwhfstsu](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29422695/chapters/72279801) and is set a few months before buck was first elected, while they're still on the campaign trail.  
> rating: t  
> word count: 3423

The blare of the siren cuts through the room, startling Buck awake. No sooner has he sat up in bed, blinking in an attempt to clear the sleep from his eyes and get his bearings, then the door to his hotel room is flying open. 

Eddie runs in, Bobby a few steps behind him. “Get up,” Eddie instructs, pausing at the foot of the bed. “We’ve gotta go.”

“What’s going on?” Buck asks, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Tornado,” Eddie says, yanking the blankets back and hoisting Buck up by his arm. “C’mon.” 

Buck grumbles something about being manhandled, but doesn’t fight against Eddie. In fact, he quite likes the feeling of Eddie’s fingers digging into the warm skin of his arm, doesn’t mind the way he can smell Eddie’s aftershave, or how their thighs brush against one another as Eddie all but drags him out the door. 

“Why is it still going?” Buck asks as they make their way down the side staircase. “There’s a tornado, we get it.” 

“It sounds for two minutes,” Bobby says. “Which is nothing compared to Minnesota. Where I grew up, it sounded for five.” 

“It’s not very considerate of people trying to sleep,” Buck mumbles. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and grumbles. “That’s kind of the point, Buck.” 

As they get to the bottom of the stairs, Buck is not at all mad to notice that Eddie still hasn’t let go of him. His bare feet are cold against the tile, but the skin on his bicep burns under Eddie’s gentle grip, having sparked to life beneath his touch.

The hallway in the basement is lined with other hotel guests and staff, sitting against the walls with their knees tucked in. Many of them look just as tired as Buck feels, half of them with feet just as bare as his own. It’s somewhat comforting, knowing he’s not the only one who’s been dragged out of bed for this. Granted, he may be the only one down here who was _literally_ dragged. But he’s not exactly complaining about that part. 

Buck pauses as they reach the end of the hallway, turning to face Eddie and Bobby. “Wait,” he says. “Where’s my sister?” 

Bobby inhales slowly, his face softening as he says, “Maddie already left for the rally site.” 

Buck’s stomach plummets to his feet, only to be followed by his heart as he’s met with a dial tone when he tries calling her. 

His eyes shine with fear as he looks up from his useless phone.

“Wind probably took out the cell tower,” Bobby explains. His voice is calm in a way that would infuriate Buck if it were coming from anyone else. But Bobby has this way about him. His calmness is never patronizing, never makes Buck feel gaslit or histrionic. Rather, Bobby's composure is a welcome refuge from the flames burning inside Buck’s own mind, an extinguisher to the onslaught of emotions that if left unmanaged, could very well consume him.

“Hen, Hen, Eddie.” Eddie’s attempt to reach Hen at the rally site a few blocks away is futile, met with four quick beeps in his ear to indicate the radio he’s trying to reach is out of range. He shakes his head, a twinge in his chest as he watches Buck’s face fall. 

An almost eerie silence falls over the hallway, and then Buck’s ears pop. He brings his hands up instinctively, rubbing at his ears in an attempt to ease some of the pressure. Bobby winces as his own do the same. “It’s coming,” he says. And then he stands, motioning for Eddie and Buck to do the same. He leads them around the corner, deeper into the basement. They wind up in what looks to be a break room for staff. It’s empty, save for a refrigerator, table, and two couches. 

“Against the wall,” Eddie says, tapping the cinder blocks. Buck ignores the way that sends a jolt up his spine and does as he’s told. As he sits down, Eddie and Bobby lift the table and carry it over, placing it down so that Buck’s beneath it. 

“Is this really necessary?” Buck asks, craning his neck to look up at them. 

“Yes,” they say at the same time. 

“Knees up,” Eddie says, sitting beside Buck and tapping his legs. Again, Buck pretends it doesn't set his insides on fire. 

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, sitting against the wall and waiting. Eddie and Bobby try to keep Buck talking, try to distract him from the anxiety that's visibly consuming him. He chews on the inside of his cheek, eyes locked on the floor as he thinks of Maddie. He can't shake his thoughts of her– where she is, if she made it inside safely, if she's nervous. "Hen and Chim are with her," Eddie says gently, once the wind picks up and Buck looks like he might start crying. 

The sound of the wind whipping against the building is unlike anything Buck’s ever heard before. It starts off as a howl, long and low. Just when Buck doesn’t possibly think it could get louder, it does. They can hear it coming, the roar of it magnifying until it's all but unbearable. Sounds of destruction in the distance get closer and closer until it sounds like there’s a freight train barreling down the hallway on the other side of the wall behind them. 

Eddie and Bobby crowd his space, draping their bodies over him as the roar of the wind magnifies. The building shakes so hard that Buck’s teeth clack together, but all he can focus on is the weight of Eddie’s chest against him, the lingering menthol of his aftershave, the warm brush of his breath, ghosting against Buck’s fingers as he clutches his kneecaps to his chest. 

And then, it’s over. The room descends into silence just as quickly as it did chaos a moment before. The roar of the wind gets further and further away as the minutes pass, until at last, it’s quiet enough Buck can hear his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears twice as fast it should. “Everybody okay?” Bobby asks, sitting back against the wall.

Eddie does the same and Buck tries not to mourn the loss of contact. He nods, looking between Bobby and Eddie. “I’m good,” he says. “Are you guys?”

They both nod. “Is that it?” Buck asks, realizing that it couldn’t have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes since they got to the basement. Though he can’t help but wonder if his sense of time might be skewed when the press of Eddie’s body against his own is a factor. “That was fast.”

"Yep," Bobby nods. “Unless it changes course and comes back through. Just gotta wait for the all clear now.” 

“That was a fast one. Not too bad,” Eddie says, patting Buck’s knee. “Right, Buck?”

He nods, just as Bobby stands up and announces he’s going to try to find a corded phone to get a hold of Hen, Chim, and Maddie. “Stay here until the siren sounds again.” 

Eddie nods. Bobby shoots Buck a pointed look, wise enough to know that he’d try to slip past Eddie if given the chance. “Okay?” 

“Uh huh,” Buck says. When met with a single raised eyebrow from Bobby, Buck sighs. “I will sit here until the siren sounds again. I promise.”

“Eddie will cuff you if you don’t.” 

The thought of Eddie cuffing him has Buck biting the inside of his cheek so hard he nearly draws blood. And while he can’t bring himself to make eye contact with Eddie until the lust he’s certain has pooled in his eyes has diminished, he does make a mental note to revisit this concept later. Preferably once they’re horizontal and wearing far fewer clothes. But alas, beggars can’t be choosers, so Buck will settle for any point in time when they’re out of this godforsaken basement.

“Talk to me,” Eddie says, nudging Buck’s shoulder with his own. They’ve got the whole room to themselves, some fifty-odd feet worth of wall to be seated against, now that the tornado has passed and there’s no need to stay beneath the table. And yet, they’re all but on top of each other, shoulders brushing as their backs rest against the cold cinder blocks.

He can tell Buck is anxious– can see it in the way he’s wringing his hands, the way his eyes don't quite light up as he glances around the room. The hint of a smile is missing from his face, his eyes hollow as he stares at his feet. “Tell me about Maddie.”

“You know Maddie,” Buck points out, looking up to meet Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie smiles. “Yeah,” he nods. “But you’ve known her 34 years longer than I have. C’mon, there’s gotta be some stories there.” 

Buck laughs, and Eddie pretends it’s not one of the greatest sounds he’s ever heard. Buck sighs, tipping head back against the wall as he thinks back to some of the things the two of them got up to as kids. “Yeah, I suppose there are.” 

Eddie doesn't miss the way the color comes back to Buck’s face as he tells him about the time Maddie taught him how to ride a bike. Or the way he lights up as he laughs his way through the story of the time she caught him sneaking marshmallows at midnight, and instead of sending him back to bed or telling on him, she showed him how to make s’mores in the microwave. 

And as he tells Eddie about how he wound up living with her when she was in college, the paralyzing fear that came with the first tremble of the building beneath the whistling wind starts to face away.

_Buck’s relationship with his parents had always been strained, though he wonders if it can even be considered a relationship if they were barely there. For most of his life, he was able to push aside the twinge that came with feeling like a disappointment, feeling unloved and abandoned. He always had Maddie._

_And then she went to college, and the three miles between their childhood home and her college apartment felt like three hundred. Neither one of them was prepared for the emptiness that came when Maddie moved out. (Though, if she had it her way, she would’ve stayed at home and commuted. An idea their parents immediately shot down because_ Buckleys commit, Maddie. _)_

_Things with his parents came to a head a week after his sixteenth birthday. For years, he’d been torn between the juxtaposition of wanting to leave— to break free from the endless cycle of disappointment that was life in the Buckley house— but knowing deep down that making said exit was one he could never undo._

_Maddie worked hard to fill the chasm in his heart left vacant by his parents, filling it with pinky promises and words of affirmation, only for it to split back open with each new disappointment, the pain still fresh as the first one. And no matter how many times he felt that sting, the white-hot sear against his heart just before it split, the pain never seemed to dull._

_As certain as it was that his parents would let him down, it was just as much a sure thing that Buck would set himself up to let it happen again. He resented himself for it, more than he ever did them. And yet, no matter how badly they hurt him, how long it took him to start feeling whole again, he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go. Let go of the excuses, of the remaining faith he had in them, of the child inside him who still clung to the hope that his parents could be who he needed them to be._

_He just couldn’t let go._

_Each time it happened, he fell into the pain for a moment, let the grief and anger and disappointment all but drown him. And each time, once Maddie had pulled him out, he did it all again, grasping at whatever shreds of hope he could scrounge up amidst the destruction his parents left in their wake. He'd cling to whatever scraps he could get his hands on, white-knuckled and desperate, until the next missed milestone, the next promise unfulfilled, until the next birthday passed without so much as a ring of the phone._

_He was the first sophomore to make varsity football in ten years, an enormous accomplishment magnified tenfold by the fact that he was going to be the starting quarterback at the season opener. His parents were in London when he found out. Or was it Prague? He tried calling to tell them, but it went unanswered, his voicemail unreturned. Which stung, but not as much as scoring the game winning touchdown and looking up at the crowd, only to find it empty of the two faces he longed most to see._

_Maddie and his two favorite nannies were in the front row of the stands, decked out in Buck’s jerseys with his number painted on their cheeks. They screamed his name and clapped until their palms were raw, running to the railing to hug him the second the clock ran out and the referee blew the whistle. And while their tight hugs and bright smiles managed to dull the ache in his chest, it still stung with every beat of his broken heart._

_It was later that night, once Maddie had gone back to her college apartment and Buck was three beers in at the after-party in some senior’s backyard, when his phone buzzed. Buck had emailed his dad a link to the local paper’s article as soon it was posted after the game, despite the sick feeling of desperation in his gut as he clicked send. He didn’t want to crave his dad’s attention this much, didn’t want his parents having this power over him any more. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t let go._

"Evan Buckley is the first sophomore to play on varsity in over a decade and the first to start in thirty years. He led his team to victory, with an impressive three touchdowns and 381 passing yards."

 _Buck was proud of himself, proud of the game he played and the words they wrote about him. Some part of him wanted his parents to know that– that he was valuable, that he served a purpose, that he was_ good. _All Buck ever wanted to be was good. So he sent them the article._

_And when his dad’s one-line response came, the beer can in Buck’s hand crumpled beneath his fingers as they clenched into a fist, the crackle of the aluminum barely loud enough to drown out the sound of his heart splitting in two._

**_A little more conditioning and that 381 could be 400._ **

_Buck couldn’t tell if the bile rising in his throat was from the cheap beer, the onslaught of resentment, or some combination of the two. It was instantly sobering, the crushing weight of disappointment. He deleted the email and called a cab, slipping out of the party without so much as another word to anyone there. He was sitting on the curb waiting for his ride when the rain started._

_“Buck?” Maddie called, swinging the door open and stepping onto the covered porch. She had glanced out the window at the slam of the car door, only to rush to the front porch at the sight of the curls and broad shoulders she’d know anywhere._

_Buck jogged up the front walkway, his red-rimmed eyes and rain-soaked curls coming into view as he walked up the porch steps. “What happened?” Maddie asked, her heart racing as she took in the sight of him. He looked ten years younger as he stood before her, deep circles under his hollow eyes, his face pinched with some type of pain she couldn’t quite make out. “What are you doing here? Are you hurt?”_

_“I didn’t know where else to go,” Buck said, his voice breaking. Maddie couldn’t tell if the drops on his cheeks were from tears or the same driving rain that plastered his curls to his forehead and turned his gray hoodie black._

_She didn’t say anything, just pulled him into her chest, unbothered by the wetness coming off his clothes and soaking through her own as she hugged him tight. She couldn’t help but notice the way he clung to her, his fingers knotted in the back of her shirt tighter than they ever had before._

_“Nothing I ever did was good enough,” Buck said later, sixteen years of pent-up anger, frustration, and resentment lacing his words. “And it’s still true. Nothing I do will ever be good enough. I’ll never be good enough for them.”_

_“You’ve never been anything but more than enough,” Maddie said, matter-of-fact. Her eyes twinkled beneath a dusting of tears that came with seeing the pain in Buck’s eyes, with watching the heartache all but tear him in two._

_“They’re the only people in this world predisposed to loving me. And they don’t.”_

_“Buck—“_

_“It’s true,” he cut her off. “They’re the_ only _two people on this planet genetically wired to love me, and they don’t. Do you realize just how profoundly indifferent about me they would have had to be in order to defy genetics like that?”_

_Maddie didn’t say anything, just reached across the table and took his hands in hers. Then, after a minute, she smiled sadly and said, “I think you should stay.”_

_“Tonight?”_

_“Yeah,” Maddie said. “And tomorrow. And the night after that. And all the nights after that one, too.”_

_Buck blinked twice, his lips parting in some combination of disbelief and awe. “You mean like, move in?”_

_She nodded. “United front, remember?”_

_“I remember.” Half a smile played on Buck’s face. “You sure I won’t be a pain?”_

_“Oh, you’ll be a pain,” Maddie said with a grin. “But I want you here.”_

_“You sure?”_

_“I promise,” she said, extending her pinky to him across the kitchen table. As he hooked his own around it, the last of the pain swirling around his chest ebbed away._

Maddie’s always been his safe place to fall, his sanctuary from the world and the demons inside his own mind. And now, sitting with his back against the cinder block wall and his knees pulled into his chest, he needs her more than ever. And the possibility that she won’t come running, that he won’t hear her voice again, won’t ever again feel the gentle press of her pinky finger as it loops around his own? Well, it scares him more than the howling wind and the rattling windows ever could. 

“She’s always been there for me,” Buck says after a beat, his voice thick with worry. “I– I can’t, if–I just… they need to let us out of here.” 

“They will soon,” Eddie assures him. His hand has since landed on Buck’s knee, squeezing reassuringly. And if the knots in Buck’s stomach ease up at that? If he’s grounded by Eddie’s touch, instantly calmer beneath the gentle press of his fingers? Well that’s his business. 

Buck appreciates the way Eddie doesn’t make promises he can’t deliver on, the way he doesn’t insist that Maddie will be fine or assure him that she’s safe. The truth of it is, neither of them knows yet. Eddie doesn’t pretend to know, doesn’t try to placate Buck with empty promises. Instead, he’s just _there_. His shoulder pressed up against Buck’s own, his hand on his knee as their breath syncs up. 

It does more for Buck than any promise, any assurance ever could.

Bobby comes back a little while before the all clear sounds. “I got through,” he says by way of greeting. “Everyone’s okay. All accounted for and safe.” 

“Maddie?” Buck breathes, the word coming out as more of a sigh of relief than anything else. 

“Talked to her myself,” Bobby says. “She’s fine. Going crazy trying to get a hold of you, but fine.” 

Eddie nudges Buck’s shoulder at that, unable to keep the relieved smile off his own face, especially once he catches sight of Buck’s own contagious one. When the all-clear siren sounds a while later, Bobby helps Buck to his feet and says, “Almost forgot." He holds up his pinky and hooks it around Buck’s own. “Maddie told me to give you this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](https://buddie-buddie.tumblr.com) 😌


	27. the one with buck's birthday party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to [Princessfbi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princessfbi/pseuds/Princessfbi) for the idea and for stopping me from deleting a good chunk of this when i got frustrated with it ❤️
> 
> rating: g  
> word count: 3903
> 
> set 4 years into buck's presidency

In the four years since Buck was elected President, Maddie’s really come to love the residence. It’s spacious yet homey, rich with history, and always smells like just-cut grass and fresh coffee. Which probably has more to do with Buck’s affinity for open windows and caffeine more than the building itself, but Maddie loves it all the same. 

She gets some of her best work done here– there’s a great office with huge windows, sunlight pouring through the glass and soaking the room in light in a way that reminds Maddie of the townhouse she and Buck used to share before he wound up on Pennsylvania Avenue. 

Buck doesn’t usually work in his full capacity on Saturdays, but today’s an exception. He’s taping a televised interview later to be released on his upcoming birthday. And while he was able to sleep in, Maddie was up by six, catching up on emails and ironing out party details. Not that she minds– the house is quiet and the mid-morning sun is warm on her face as she sits at her desk. 

Quiet, that is, until the rumbling starts. If not for the no-fly zone over the White House, she’d think it was an airplane overhead. She shrugs it off at first and tries to get back to work. But the vaguely-familiar sound continues, growing a little louder with each passing second. 

It’s not until the coffee in the mug atop her desk starts moving, tiny ripples on the surface of the dark liquid as the desk itself starts shaking, that she realizes what’s happening and why it sounds so familiar.

She gives up, closing the lid to her laptop and rising to her feet with a sigh. She closes her eyes for a moment, saying a silent prayer for patience before opening them and stepping into the hall. It gets louder as she gets further down the hallway, music booming as she turns the corner and walks into the living room. 

She leans up against the wall and just observes for a moment. Eddie’s standing on the other side of the room, arms crossed over his t-shirt-clad chest as he watches Buck with the hint of an amused smile on his face. He’s bouncing around the living room, drumming his hands in the air and bopping his head along to the beat of the music blasting from the surround-sound speakers. 

Eddie turns to face Maddie the second he senses her presence. They share a knowing look followed by a synchronous head shake, a contest for who’s the most fond. 

“Here it comes,” Buck says to Eddie, drumming his fingers in the air before belting along with the music. “TWO WORLDS! ONE FAMILY!” 

“Buck?” Maddie tries to get his attention. She’s not sure if he’s choosing to ignore her or genuinely can’t hear her voice over the music pouring from the speakers. Stepping closer, she waves her hands and tries again. “Buck!” 

“Mads!” Buck shouts, turning to find the source of her voice. His eyes light up even more, if possible, when he sees her. Eddie grabs Bucks’ phone and turns the volume down just enough to make Buck’s excited, “Phil Collins is coming!” audible. 

“Coming where?” Despite knowing exactly what’s going on here, Maddie plays dumb, if only to watch the excitement in Buck’s eyes magnify as he explains it.

“To my birthday,” Buck says. It’s a wonder he doesn’t trip over his words in his hurry to get them out. He looks over his shoulder at Eddie like he’s the moon and sun and all the stars at once. “Eddie got him to come. He’s going to perform.” 

Maddie can’t help but smile. It could be due to Buck’s contagious excitement, the elation coming off him in waves and filling the room. But she thinks it might have more to do with the look she catches Buck and Eddie sharing. 

Something about seeing her little brother in love always manages to make Maddie’s heart swell in her chest. She’ll never tire of seeing the way Eddie looks at Buck– like he’s everything he ever wanted and then some. So much of her life was spent longing for Buck to find his person: someone else on this Earth who could join her in loving Buck wholly and irrevocably, in the way he still didn't believe he deserved.

Enter Eddie. Buck spent so much of his life thinking he was see-through to everyone but Maddie, like he was just _there_ and she was the only one who ever really saw him. And then Eddie came along. Suddenly, there wasn’t just one person who saw him for all he was– who knew _all_ of him, even the parts he wasn’t proud of– and loved him anyway. Now, there were two. 

“Hey Mads,” Buck says. “Is there anything that says I can’t change the National Anthem? Two Worlds is both catchy and not written by a slaveholder, which can’t be said for The Star Spangled Banner.”

“I’d have to look,” she says as the song changes. Eddie’s biting back a grin on the other side of the room, the picture of fondness.

“Oh, wait, Eddie!” Buck says, turning to face him. “I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

A grin erupts across Buck’s face, his timing perfect. He holds Eddie's gaze as he shouts along with the song, “ _I wanna know, can you show me_?” 

The fond eye roll he gets in return is well worth it. 

As the chorus swells, Buck half-considers leaping onto the glass-topped coffee table. He’s not sure if it can hold his weight– and remembers a near-miss one night when he and Eddie found themselves atop it for *ahem* _other_ reasons– but the energy rushing through his veins and thrumming beneath his skin is doing an impeccable job of clouding his judgment. Not to mention, he always did love an elevated surface. 

It's as if Eddie can read his mind, one of his eyebrows raising as the thought bounces around Buck’s brain. “Don’t you dare,” Eddie says, looking between Buck and the coffee table pointedly. 

“But Eddie-” 

“ _Do not._ ” 

Buck rolls his eyes but obeys anyway. He all but bounces across the room to where his phone’s sitting on the couch, distracting himself from the way that the authoritative tone in Eddie’s voice sends heat pooling in his stomach, his mouth running dry. 

“Buck!” Maddie protests as he turns the music up even louder. 

“This is your fault,” Buck points to her. “You took me to see the movie.” 

“I was eleven,” she protests. 

As the song ends and transitions to the opening beats of You’ll Be in My Heart, Buck gasps and quickly skips it. He can’t risk crying, not when there’s not enough time for any residual eye puffiness to go down before the cameras start rolling in a few hours. 

Chimney keys into the residence and follows the booming music to the living room, kissing Maddie’s cheek and setting down the cardboard tray laden with cafe coffees in his hand as he takes in his surroundings. 

“Is that–” Chimney begins.

Maddie glances at him over her shoulder and nods. “The Tarzan soundtrack?” she asks. “Yes. Yes, it is.” 

Chim’s heart flutters in his chest, excitement bubbling up as he asks, “Does that mean–” 

“Phil Collins is coming!” Buck finishes his sentence. 

In five years of knowing Chimney, Maddie’s not sure she’s ever heard the noise that comes out of his throat before. Some cross between a laugh and a squeal, it’s elation in its purest form as Chim and Buck hug each other, jumping up and down as they embrace. The only person she’s ever known to match Buck’s love for Phil Collins is Chim. Go figure. 

“He’s coming!” Chim repeats, laughing. Whereas Buck found out about Phil Collins performing at his birthday party just this morning, everyone else on his team had known for a week, since the call to arrange it first went out. Maddie and Eddie had grappled with whether to let Chim know before it was confirmed, mostly because he can’t keep a secret any more than a sieve can keep sand. Also because Maddie wasn’t convinced that he wouldn’t have a coronary. But in the interest of being able to plan security for the event, Eddie had clued everyone in the team in, swearing them to secrecy until it was confirmed and he could let Buck in on it, too.

It had been the hardest week of Chim’s life– he spent most of it in the control room and working with the VP, having too little trust in himself to be around Buck for any longer than he absolutely had to. But now, the secret’s out and Maddie can’t keep the grin off her own face as she watches the two of them jump around the room like over excited school children.

“Phil Collins is coming _here_!” Chimney exclaims.

“Can you believe it?” Buck asks.

“Of course I can,” Chim replies, winking at Eddie. “No one says no to Eddie Diaz.” 

Buck’s eyelashes flutter as he looks over at Eddie, grinning. 

Eddie’s always been well aware that Buck’s love for Phil Collins eclipses that of his love for fast food, nonfiction books, and a certain Secret Service agent. Not that he could blame him. According to Buck, he’s a national treasure, even despite his lack of American heritage. 

_“He’s still a national treasure, Eds,” Buck had said when Eddie pointed this out to him a couple years ago. They’d just tucked Christopher in after movie night, and despite Tarzan having ended fifteen minutes ago, Buck was still humming Strangers Like Me as they moved around Eddie's kitchen, cleaning up their long-since abandoned dinner dishes. “We claim him, too.”_

_“Oh, do we?”_

_“Very much so,” Buck insisted. “And as the leader of this nation, I do believe it’s my call.”_

_Eddie didn’t know where to even begin. All he knew was that his skin felt warm all of a sudden, his heart swelling in his chest as he watched the glint in Buck’s eye. “Why Phil Collins?” he had asked._

_“Because, Eddie,” Buck had said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He didn’t have to go even a fraction as hard as he did on the Tarzan soundtrack. But he did. He did that for us.”_

_When Eddie didn’t say anything for a beat, Buck nodded his head and said, “See, even you can’t argue that.”_

_“I wasn’t going to argue,” Eddie protests. “Just wondering if it was really Chris who picked the movie tonight.”_

_Buck had shrugged, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. “He may have had some coaching ahead of time.”_

_“Uh huh,” Eddie nodded, leaning against the counter and looking up at Buck. “Well, thank you for coaching him towards Tarzan and not, like, Silence of the Lambs.”_

_“Oh, don’t worry,” Buck pressed a kiss to Eddie’s cheek. “That’s tomorrow’s pick.”_

_Eddie’s laugh was low and warm, his breath ghosting across Buck’s neck as he dropped a kiss to his jaw. “Great.”_

_He went on to tell Eddie about the summer that Tarzan first came out. Maddie had taken him to the movie theater in town after their last day of school before summer break. She had finished fifth grade, which meant she’d be moving on to the middle school come September. Buck, having just finished second grade, was anxious about being at school without his sister from the day he pieced two and two together and realized there were no sixth-grade classrooms in the building._

_His apprehension was all but palpable as the final school bell rang and he made his way outside to meet Maddie beneath the oak tree out front for the last time. She noticed it the second his face came into view, his face pinched tight, his little hands with a white-knuckled grip on his backpack straps as he approached._

_Another soon-to-be sixth-grader was having a celebratory pool party for everyone in the grade, but all Maddie wanted to do was hang out with her brother. So instead of turning left to walk home, they turned right and walked into town. Maddie used a pay phone to call their nanny before leading Buck into the movie theater. He was already over the moon at getting to spend the afternoon with his big sister, but when Maddie let him get popcorn_ and _candy at the concession stand, it quickly became the best day ever._

_Buck was fascinated by Tarzan, immediately drawn to the story and the characters and the way his heart pounded in his chest as the soundtrack boomed over the vibrant animation. He was obsessed. Maddie took him back three more times in the week that followed, and their nanny promised she’d buy him the VHS tape when it came out, so long as he stopped trying to swing from the curtains in the living room._

_“Her birthday was a week later,” Buck told Eddie. “She could’ve asked Mom and Dad for anything, you know? A pager or a bucket hat or one of those transparent landlines. Whatever the cool thing was in 1999. And instead, she asked for a rope swing in the backyard.”_

_“A rope swing?”_

_Buck had nodded, smiling as he recalled one of his fondest memories. “When we got home from the movies that day, I asked for one. I just wanted to swing like Tarzan.”_

_Eddie smiled, rolling his eyes fondly. Of course he did._

_“My dad told me I had to wait until my birthday and ask again. But it was still a month away, which felt like an eternity at eight years old.”_

_“So she asked instead,” Eddie says, unable to keep the smile off his face. He can practically picture a pint-sized Buck, smile all but consuming his face the first time he saw that swing in the backyard._

_Buck nodded, warmth spreading across his chest as he thought about how the only other kid he knows who'd give up their birthday gift for someone else was asleep in the bedroom down the hall. “Well, when I asked for Polly Pockets and an N*SYNC poster three weeks later, my dad never made me wait for anything again.”_

_Eddie ran his thumb over Buck’s knuckles. “I’m glad you guys have each other.”_

_“Me, too.” Buck smiled._

Buck’s upcoming 40th birthday was _not_ a big deal. At least that’s what he insisted anytime it was brought up. It was tradition for the President to have a birthday party at the White House, which Buck intended to follow, so long as everyone knew it was _not_ a big deal. That didn’t stop Maddie from inviting all of Buck’s favorite people and Eddie from calling in a favor. 

He knew Phil’s daughter Lily’s bodyguard from their time in the army together, and with one quick text, Eddie was on the phone with Phil himself. He was humbled by the invitation and assured Eddie that as long as the date worked, he’d be there. When the call came through this morning confirming that he’d be performing at Buck’s party in a few days, Eddie couldn’t wait to tell Buck. 

Buck had stumbled down the hallway in his sweatpants and one of Eddie’s old Secret Service Academy shirts just after nine, his curls loose atop his head as he stifled a yawn. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he wandered into the kitchen in search of Eddie and a cup of coffee, in no particular order.

The coffee was immediately forgotten as Eddie kissed him good morning and informed him who would be in attendance on Saturday night. The music was on a moment later.

_____

“Why Tarzan?” Karen asks. They’re sitting around one of the large, round banquet tables on the Rose Garden lawn. String lights above them cast the garden in a warm glow, and Eddie can’t help but notice the way the shadows dance across Buck’s cheeks as he makes his way around the party, greeting guests. He’s flanked by Maddie on one side and Phil Collins on the other, and Eddie’s not sure if he’s ever seen Buck’s face aglow quite like it is tonight. 

“ _Why Tarzan_ ?” Athena snorts, taking a sip of her wine. “He pretty much _is_ Tarzan.” 

When Hen and Eddie both turn to look at her quizzically, she scoffs. “Oh come on!” Athena says. “Tall, handsome, strong. Absent parents.” 

“Found family,” Bobby chimes in, nodding. 

Eddie’s lips part in what can only be described as revelation. He can’t believe it took him until now to connect the dots and make the same connection Athena– and, apparently, Bobby– had. 

“Fiercely loyal,” Eddie says, the words coming out in the same moment the thought crosses his mind. 

“Mmhm,” Athena nods. “Always felt like an outsider.”

Eddie would be lying if he said that one didn’t hurt a little, didn’t sting as the words landed. But then Bobby nudges Eddie’s ribcage with his elbow and says, “Until his person came along.” 

There’s a flush creeping up Eddie’s neck, warmth spreading through his body as his heart pounds in his chest. He smiles softly, looks down at his hands, and supposes the same could be said for himself. 

Eddie was a sinking boat– unmoored and adrift, directionless as the waves took him further and further from shore– and then Buck came along, climbing aboard and pointing him home. He brought him to shore, grounding him in ways Eddie thought impossible. Buck was his lifeline, his beacon, his north star. His way home when the seas were rough and the waves unrelenting. 

And the thought of being even a fragment of that for Buck in return? Well, it has Eddie’s heart hanging a little lower in his chest, heavier under the magnitude of it all. _His person._ Eddie thinks it to be the privilege of a lifetime. 

And then Hen nudges Chim and says, “I think Eddie makes a good Jane.” 

Chim nods, looking at Eddie thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “He’d look great in a yellow dress.” 

Eddie opens his mouth to respond to that when the opening notes of You’ll Be in My Heart come from the platform stage. 

Buck freezes where he was talking to one of the guests on the other side of the garden. He looks around until he finds Maddie, who’s frozen in place as she searches him out as well. Their eyes meet, equally brilliant smiles spreading across their faces as they do. 

They meet on the dance floor. It’s always been their song, from the first time they heard it in the movie theater and Buck rested his head against Maddie’s shoulder. 

Buck blinks back happy tears as he hears her voice, just loud enough for him to hear and no one else, “My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm.” 

“You’re my Kala,” Buck says quietly. “You know that, right?”

“Why can’t I remind you of Jane?” she laughs. “You know, the one who’s not a gorilla?” 

“Because,” Buck says. He thinks of the way Maddie used to hum Son of Man to him on nights when he couldn't fall asleep. _You'll find your place beside the ones you love, and all the things you dreamed of._ “Kala’s the one who loved him unconditionally. The one who took care of him and loved him from the start. She saw him for all was and all he could be. She knew he was a little different, and she loved him anyway.”

Maddie swallows around the lump that has suddenly appeared in her throat. “Well, when you put it like that,” she says, eyes shining. 

Buck’s right hand is on her back as they sway to the music, his left hand holding her right. And then he unlaces their fingers, only to brush his pinky up against hers. She hooks her own around his without hesitation, the two of them sharing a smile. 

“You and me against the world,” she says. 

He nods. “Buckleys for the win.” 

And when she rests her cheek against his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear sounds like home. 

______

Once dinner and cake and Phil’s performance are over, the night starts to die down. There’s a playlist coming through the big speakers on either side of the dance floor, one Maddie and Eddie curated with all of Buck’s favorite songs. The night air is balmy, the type of pleasant warmth that kisses each inch of exposed skin in the way it only can on a mid-July evening. 

“Hey,” Eddie says. His hands come to rest on Buck’s shoulders as he presses a kiss to the top of his head. Buck immediately melts into his touch, tipping his head back to meet Eddie’s lips in a proper kiss. “Hi.” 

He tries not to pout at the lost contact as Eddie steps to the side and drops into the chair beside him. And then, just as quick as Eddie’s touch left, it returns, as he takes Buck’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and running his thumb over the side of Buck’s hand. 

“You did this,” Buck says, looking around the garden packed with his favorite people, mingling and dancing and laughing with one another beneath the soft glow of the string lights. “For me.” 

Eddie shrugs. “It was nothing.” 

Buck leans over and drops a kiss to Eddie’s lips, soft and heartfelt, rich with words left unsaid. “It was everything.” 

“You deserve the world,” Eddie says, bringing his hand up to Buck’s cheek. His thumb brushes against Buck’s skin, sending a rush of electricity all the way from the point of contact down to his toes and back again. “I’m still trying to figure out how to get it for you, but I figured Phil Collins was a good place to start.” 

Buck thinks his heart might beat clean out of his chest, with the way it’s pounding. Six years later and there’s still a little bit of lingering disbelief thrumming through his veins, his blood laced with love and gratitude and running heavy. He can’t believe how lucky he is to have Eddie.

Eddie’s steady and dependable and _good._ When the ground starts shifting, Eddie’s the one who keeps him in place, the one who holds him up on the days when he can’t quite do it himself. keep Buck’s head up on the days when his heart falls out of sight. When the darkness creeps in, Eddie’s the one who pulls the curtains back and reminds Buck to let the sun come streaming in. He’s the one to help him reach up, to rise again. 

And on the good days, which far outnumber the bad, Eddie’s still there. Still his rock, his touchstone, his biggest cheerleader and most trusted ally. Buck could live a thousand lifetimes and still never understand how it happened, how he managed to be so lucky. 

Buck’s been elected to the highest office, has traveled the globe, fought for his country, rubbed elbows with celebrities and seen all the wonders the world has to offer. And yet, none of that holds a candle to this: the feel of Eddie’s fingers interlocked with his own, the way his heart pounds in his chest, the syrupy sweet rush of ecstasy that comes with the warm tickle of Eddie’s breath against Buck’s cheek as he leans in and murmurs “Happy Birthday, Mr. President.” 

The privilege of his lifetime, Buck knows with absolute certainty, is this right here. Being loved by Eddie. 

And what a lucky man he is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you picked up on all the broadway references i snuck in here, you're my favorite 💖


End file.
